


all's fair in love, war, and tech week

by eudaimmonia



Series: tech au [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, She Kills Monsters - Nguyen
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Chiron is the director, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, HOW DO YOU TAG THINGS, Like really slow, Slow Burn, Theatre, fashion designer!Annabeth, if you like luke...not the fic for you, tech theatre technically, that I do not own, the whole crew is working on a play, well kind of she's on costumes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimmonia/pseuds/eudaimmonia
Summary: When Annabeth joins the cast and crew of a play her school is performing, she expects to be alone.orThe one where they work backstage.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Series: tech au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040233
Comments: 103
Kudos: 217





	1. i knew you before we met (and i don't even know you yet)

“Tech is a thankless job.” 

Annabeth stays seated on the floor of the theatre room, her backpack tossed somewhere in the corner. The kids who got to the introductory meeting early lounge on Mr. Brunner’s small, but comfortable sofa. She doesn’t know any of them. Sure, she’s passed a few of these kids in the hallways before, but that’s it. The only person she  _ knows  _ in tech is Thalia, and the older girl isn’t even supposed to be there until a few weeks before the show. And the other person she really knows in theater, well…she’d like to stay away from him. 

“No one in the audience pays attention to us,” Charles Beckendorf continues. He’d introduced himself as technical director, Annabeth remembers. “No one says ‘wow, you did a great job moving those periaktos!’ You’re invisible, and that’s how it should be. Without you, the show doesn’t exist.” 

“Hey, lighten up a little, will you?” a boy calls. Annabeth sees Clarisse, their stage manager, snarl, but Beckendorf simply chuckles.    
  
“I’m only telling you the truth,” he says, arms raised in mock surrender. “Don’t be disappointed when you don’t get to run out during curtain call like the actors.” 

The boy squints. 

“But there’s more to tech than being underrated,” Beckendorf says, a smile on his face. It’s friendly, easygoing. Annabeth decides that she likes him. He has the authority without being overbearing.

“The first, and most important part, is that we are a team. A really weird team. And we cannot be a team if we don’t know each other, so everyone get in a circle!” 

Groans erupt from all over the room, but one dead stare from Beckendorf and they all scramble into a shape that, well, sort of looks like a circle if you look at it from above. “That was a good transition,” Clarisse mutters to him.. Both seniors look pleased, and since they’re running the meeting, Annabeth doesn’t question it.    
  
“We’re gonna go ahead and introduce ourselves, y’all!” Clarisse barks. “As you all know, our fall show is  _ ‘She Kills Monsters’  _ by Qui Nguyen. It’s a play about family, love, and Dungeons and Dragons. We’re reading the script tomorrow. For today, everyone will go around and say their name, their position, and what made them interested in this show. I’ll go first: I’m Clarisse, your stage manager. You already know that, but what you don’t know is that I’m gonna be working mainly with the actors and Mr. Brunner, our director--Beckendorf will be the one in charge of y’all. I applied for tech in this show because I’ve done tech since freshman year, so why would I stop now?” 

Beckendorf goes after her, and the chain of replies continues counter-clockwise. Annabeth ends up spacing out and staring at the signatures on the walls of the theatre room, probably left behind by tearful seniors. The quiet introductions serve as background noise to the buzzing in her head. It’s only when someone to her right taps her shoulder that she’s pulled out of her boredom-induced trance. 

  
Annabeth turns her head to see someone raising two black eyebrows at her, a teasing smirk on his face.  _ He’s cute _ is the first thing that comes to her mind. The second thing that comes to her mind is  _ wait, what?  _

The cute boy chuckles softly, making his eyes scrunch up. It occurs to her that she said the second bit out loud.

“It’s your turn,” he whispers to her. There’s really no need to; the younger kids had started stirring much earlier. But he does, and Clarisse and Beckendorf and all the other upperclassmen look at her expectantly. 

She clears her throat. 

“I’m Annabeth Chase,” she starts. “I’m a sophomore and I’m head of costumes. I was drawn to this show because I want more experience with designing and there’s no better place to do that than in theatre, right? And the premise of the show is just, uh, very exciting,” Annabeth finishes lamely. She doesn’t miss the cute boy nodding along to her introduction, his messy black hair bobbing up and down. He’s so busy nodding that he forgets his turn too, until Annabeth prompts him with an eyebrow raise of her own. 

“Uh, hi. I’m Percy,” Cute Boy--no,  _ Percy _ says. “I’m also a sophomore and I’m on the building team. I decided to be in this show because Beckendorf practically begged me to,” he teases, throwing a wink in his direction. “Plus I dig the vibes of the show.” 

The circle continues, and Annabeth’s eyes glaze over again. Except this time, she’s thinking about Percy. She swears she’s heard that name before--not from any of her classes, but somewhere else. Annabeth steals a glance at him to find that he’s already looking at her. They both look away. 

_ Percy, Percy, Percy _ …Where has she heard that name? When she rifles through her memory, Annabeth realizes she’s seen him before too. Maybe he just has one of those faces? 

She takes another look at him.  _ No, he definitely looks familiar. _ Annabeth ponders it as yet another kid introduces themselves, then comes to the conclusion that it’s his eyes. They’re kind. Warm. Inviting. 

Her thoughts are interrupted by Beckendorf’s voice. “Good job, everyone,” he says. She finds it slightly amusing--no jobs were actually performed. “You guys can leave, but don’t expect to leave at 5:30 after this week. Real rehearsals start Monday. Have a good night!” 

Percy almost slips away from her as he disappears to the backpack corner, but she catches up to him. 

“Hey,” Annabeth gasps, slowing down from an almost-jog. “Did Beckendorf really beg you to join?” 

He looks surprised that she’s talking to him, but responds with a smile nonetheless. “Sort of. My friend Grover and I were talking to him about the show and--”    
  
“Oh my god, Grover!” 

“What?” 

Annabeth clears her throat, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “I  _ thought  _ your name sounded familiar. Turns out I’ve heard it from Grover. He’s like, one of my only friends,” she mumbles, a little self conscious. Friendships and first impressions are not her forte. “Come to think of it, I think I’ve seen you with him too. We’ve met before.” 

Percy blinks slowly. “I think I’d remember meeting you.” 

She’s sure her face looks like a stop light. “What does that mean?” 

“I guess we’ll find out,” Percy remarks, a lilt to his tone. “But yeah, Grover and I were talking about it and Beckendorf said he could really use someone like me on the team. Whatever that means.” His hand rubs the back of his neck. 

“Well,” Annabeth says, “I guess we’ll find out.” 

* * *

The first week is supposed to be just the leaders in tech meetings. And technically, Annabeth is a leader, because technically, she’s  _ head  _ of costumes. 

However, in order to lead, you need people to be responsible for. Of which Annabeth has none. 

The meetings are helpful, sure. She gets the idea that the play has two main looks: 90s grunge and stereotypical fantasy. Not too long into the second meeting, she’s banished to the computer lab to compile ideas for costumes while Mr. Brunner talks props with everyone else. She doesn’t mind. It  _ is  _ her job, after all. Annabeth decides to design the fantasy ones first—they’re fairly easy to find inspiration for.

_ It’s an interesting story _ , Annabeth thinks as she drags images of fairy and dragon costumes onto a presentation. 

_ ‘Agnes Evans, a regular old high schooler, goes on a D&D campaign written by her deceased little sister to get to know who she truly was when she was alive. _ ’

Needless to say, Mr. Brunner had chosen a heavy play for them to produce. 

The room is quiet while she sketches out some ideas, quiet enough to let her mind wander. Annabeth wonders why it takes the loss of something for a person to realize they should have cherished it. It took her running away from her family for them to realize they should have treated her better. It took Thalia disappearing in elementary school for Annabeth to realize how much she loves her. 

The memories leave a bitter taste in her mouth and hard lines etched into the sketchbook. Loss is a topic for plays and poems and love songs. Art. But art is a reflection of life. 

Her mind gets like this sometimes. It starts small—a tiny thought, invasive, like a hole made by an earthworm on a freshly-manicured lawn. And instead of leaving it alone, she grabs a shovel and digs. Annabeth digs and digs and digs until the hole is a chasm and she’s standing in it. 

Today, though, she doesn’t reach the chasm. The sound of a door creaking open pulls her from her spiral, and Annabeth whips her head around to see….

“Percy?”

“Hey.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought building started today when it, in fact, does not. Got my schedules mixed up.” 

“Happens to everyone.” 

“And I can’t really go home right now because I don’t get my license until late October and Grover is already...not here.” 

“I see.” 

Percy’s face grows pinker, though she doesn’t see why. “Beckendorf said you were here, and since I have nowhere to go for the next couple hours, I, uh, I thought I could keep you company.” 

A myriad of emotions runs through Annabeth’s head at the same time. She’s confused, touched, intrigued. “Oh.” 

It feels like she said the wrong thing, because his blush darkens and he rushes through his next words: “I know you’re working, so I can leave if you want.” 

“No, it’s okay,” Annabeth says hurriedly. She pats the chair at the computer next to her. 

Percy gives her a grin and sits down. His bag hits the ground with a  _ thud.  _ “So what are you working on?” he asks, his words carrying nonchalance. Whether it’s real or fake, Annabeth can’t tell. 

“Costume inspiration.” It’s simple, but it’s the truth. 

“Well I know  _ that _ .”

Annabeth snorts at his tone. “ _ She Kills Monsters _ is set in a 1995 high school  _ and  _ a fantasy realm within the ‘critically acclaimed world of Dungeons and Dragons,’” she recites. He’s looking at her intently, hanging onto her every word as if he doesn’t already know this. As if they didn’t read the script with the actors a day ago. 

“We need costumes for both settings. I started with the fantasy ones because they’re easier.” Annabeth tilts the monitor so Percy can see the collage she’d started putting together. “I think I wanna go full fantasy. Cloaks, wings, armor...” She trails off, raising an eyebrow as a silent way of asking for Percy’s opinion. 

“It sounds like a good idea. D&D is pretty much entirely fantasy based.” 

“Do you play?” She’s genuinely curious. The boy in front of her is a kind-eyed enigma, and something pushes her to unravel him. 

“My stepdad, Paul, has a group. He’s a college professor. Him and his nerd coworkers play at the library sometimes.” 

Annabeth tilts her head. “He seems like a pretty cool dude to be playing a….” She looks at the description of D&D in the script. “Fantasy tabletop role playing game.” 

Percy grins. “He is.” 

Silence falls over them, and Annabeth is suddenly very aware of the fact that they’re  _ alone  _ in the computer lab. There’s no teacher. There’s no Beckendorf. The sound of their breathing, almost in sync but not quite, feels like a symphony, the thrum of electricity being their only accompaniment. 

Annabeth clears her throat, turning back to the monitor. “I’m kind of stuck on the 90’s costumes though. This play happens to be set in the one decade I don’t know. I’m thinking grunge for now, but that’s because it’s literally the only style I know. But like….they have a skater vibe? I don’t know.” 

Percy’s eyes light up, the kindness evolving into excitement. “They  _ do  _ have a skater vibe! I can confirm, I used to be one.” 

“No way.” Her grin finds its way into her voice. 

“Yes way. What if you just made all the high schoolers look like skaters? They’re nerds anyway.” 

“Hmm.” Annabeth does a quick Google Image search. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but the results make her laugh. “Percy, are you sure you  _ used  _ to be a skater? This is literally all I’ve seen you wear.” 

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no malice in his voice. 

Annabeth hums in amusement, dragging a picture of a boy in an oversized shirt and ripped jeans onto her presentation. “There. You’re officially the costume inspiration.” 

“Well,” Percy remarks, leaning towards the screen, “I’m officially honored.” 

It turns out that he has a good eye for 90’s fashion  _ (“It’s the skater in me.” “At least you’re embracing it.” “Shut up.”) _ . Her mind is given temporary relief from its spiral. She doesn’t know what it is about Percy. Annabeth barely knows him, yet all it takes is him stepping into a room to make her feel better. Annabeth decides that he’s a genuinely good person; she’d probably trust him with anything.

“So why costumes?” Percy asks. He’s leaned back in his chair, arms resting behind his head. 

“I want to get into fashion.” She could have stopped there, but Percy’s presence is so kind, so inviting, it draws the rest of Annabeth’s story out of her. “I wanted to be an architect when I was younger. Growing up, family was always temporary and I wanted something….permanent. I wanted to create that something permanent. So instead of people, I turned to monuments.”

Percy’s eyebrows knit, and for a second, Annabeth regrets telling him.  _ Stupid of you, really,  _ her brain chides.  _ You just met the guy! Why are you oversharing?  _

But before she can finish scolding herself, he speaks up. “Wanted? Why past tense?” 

Annabeth laughs dryly. She keeps her gaze on her sketchbook, adding some shading to the design. “Unfortunately to get into architecture you need to actually learn formulas and math and all that stuff. Apparently it isn’t enough to just like, empathize with it.” 

When Percy doesn’t respond, she looks up to see a quizzical look on his face. “I took an engineering class freshman year of high school and hated it,” Annabeth clarifies. “Should’ve just led with that, sorry.” 

“What if you gave it another chance?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she says, idly outlining the figure. “I hated it enough that it ruined everything about architecture for me. I mean sure, I can look at it, but if you ask me to map out the layout of something….oof. I’d probably cry.”    
  


He nods. “That’s valid, I guess.” 

“And,” she continues, “I think if you’re truly meant for something you’ll go back to it. Even if it disappoints you. You’ll give it chance after chance until it works.” 

Percy looks like he’s considering her words. He chews on his lip, his eyes straying to the side. “That’s good advice for hobbies. Bad advice for people.” 

“You’re right,” is all Annabeth says. It’s soft, and she doesn’t even look up from the almost-finished design. 

“You’re not interested in going back to it?”    
  


“I’m not,” she confirms. “I think I turned to fashion because it allows for more artistic expression. And that’s what I was after, really. ‘Something permanent’ is a lot easier to express when you don’t have to think about a billion different formulas first. And fashion  _ is _ permanent. Take the skater thing for example. It’s immortalized in that era.” Annabeth sets her pencil down and looks back at the drawing. “Okay, I think this is gonna be one of the male lead’s costumes.” 

She holds up the sketchpad: it’s a figure wearing a striped oversized t-shirt and ripped jeans, similar to her reference picture. There’s a flannel tied loosely around its waist, and a snapback resting backwards on its head. Annabeth thinks it’s pretty decent, considering she knows jack shit about 90’s fashion. 

Almost immediately, Percy’s lips part. He leans forward, his elbow resting on his knee. “Holy shit, Annabeth,” he says. “That’s really good.” 

“Oh?” The compliment feels special coming from Percy, somehow. “Thanks. I don’t think I even have to sew anything for this.” 

“Perfect and practical,” he remarks. 

“Well I don’t know about perfect, but practical, yes.”    
  


“It’s perfect for the show,” Percy insists. “Real skater vibes. I might have that exact outfit.” 

She smiles. “Might?”    
  


“Fine, I do,” Percy admits with no hesitation, as if he was waiting for her to ask. “I’ll send you a picture.” 

They exchange numbers, and Annabeth feels a lot more confident in her designs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here!! i've been working on this for two months and I'm so excited to share it with everyone <3 also known as the tech au :) just as a brief disclaimer, I don't own She Kills Monsters by Qui Nguyen, but it is an excellent play and I suggest you check it out. thank you to everyone who helped me with this <3 this week's chapter title is from Hadestown


	2. you walked into my life like you always belonged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Percy Jackson, somehow, brings an element of happiness that can't be destroyed.

Annabeth finds herself wanting to text him. 

Like, all the time. 

He’s rays of sunlight, streaming into her mind like it’s a glass pane. No matter what, the thought of Percy reaches her. 

She doesn’t act on it for two days. 

Annabeth’s working on an English essay when her phone dings. She struggles through a sentence before picking up her phone to read the text, and almost crushes it when she does. 

>Mr. Brunner to She Kills Monsters Cast and Crew: Rehearsals start Monday! Actors, make sure you have your scripts. Tech, wear clothes suitable for building and painting. Set and Costume Design--all ideas due by tomorrow as well. Plan on staying late! 

It’s enough to make her fall out of her chair, because  _ holy shit that’s tomorrow and I have  _ one  _ costume designed for the high school setting and— _

Annabeth would like to say she can calm herself down, she really would. She tries to scramble to her feet, but hits her head on the chair leg in the process. Things are running smoothly. 

The sound of her door opening tenses Annabeth further: her parents seeing her in this state is something she’d generally like to avoid. But thankfully, it’s just Matthew.    
  
“You good, dumbass?” 

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “Get out.”

“Nah.” 

They don’t speak for a minute. The Chase family is well versed in starting contests, and Annabeth doesn’t back down from this one. 

“I can handle myself,” Annabeth argues, at which Matthew raises his eyebrows. 

“When J-Lo said ‘get on the floor’ she didn’t mean it literally you know.” 

Annabeth groans, hitting her forehead on the chair leg purposely this time. “It’s  _ She Kills Monsters _ . I did it for what? For a workload I finish at the latest possible time?”

“Then do your work.”

Annabeth glares at him from the floor. “Wow Matty, that’s such a good idea. I should’ve thought of that!” 

“You want me to tell Mom and Dad you won’t be at dinner?” He sounds genuinely concerned, and Annabeth feels a rush of affection for her brother. As they grew older, Bobby and Matthew became the only things that make life at the Chase’s bearable, surprisingly. Even with their teasing nature, they’re a lot more mature than she was at their age. 

“Please.” Skipping dinner will only widen the distance between her and her parents, she knows, but it’s not like they’re magically pleasant at dinner either. Might as well get some work done. 

Matthew helps her up off the floor. He’s only 13, yet he’s nearing her height. It’s a little jarring. 

They talk for a bit before he’s called downstairs. Matthew gives her a thumbs up and heads down, leaving her with four costumes to design. 

_ Okay _ .  _ You can do this.  _

She picks up her phone.

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: hey, this is annabeth. remember when you said you’ll send me a picture of your skater outfit? 

As she hits send, Annabeth chews on her lip. Making a bad impression would be unideal. 

The typing symbol pops up next to Percy’s name, and Annabeth’s heart drums in her chest. 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: how could i forget? 

For some reason, his response calms her. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: i’m gonna hold you to that….did you see Brunner’s text??

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: oof, how many costumes do u need to finish by tomorrow? 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: SIX. 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: oh shit 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: my sentiments exactly

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: okay wait I’ll video call u and show u some stuff in my closet 

And before Annabeth can react, her phone is buzzing in her hand. There’s no profile picture for Percy yet, and she mentally reminds herself to take one at the next rehearsal. She swallows, pressing the ‘accept call’ button. Percy’s face fills her screen. 

“Hi,” he says, a cheeky grin playing his lips. The sun’s coming in rays from his window, making half of his face look golden. 

“Hi.” 

“Okay, so,” Percy says, setting down his phone. “I have a lot of band shirts. Let me get them.” 

He pads off the screen, leaving Annabeth staring at her phone awkwardly. Her brain starts seizing at random details in his room—a poster tacked to the wall, a plant on the windowsill, a textbook left open. It’s chaotic in an organized way, much like her own room. 

Percy comes back, his arms full of fabric. “Hi again,” Annabeth says. She thinks she hears him snort, but it’s possible that her audio’s just spotty. Annabeth follows him with her eyes and watches him put the pile down. 

“Hi again, Annabeth,” he hums. “So a lot of these are just Fall Out Boy shirts. Superior in the 2000s and superior now.” He holds up a few, and she recognizes some of the album covers. 

“That’s all well and good, Perce, but this is set in the  _ 90s _ .” 

“As if the audience would care,” he scoffs.

Percy’s right, they wouldn’t. “But I do,” Annabeth insists. “It’s….” 

It’s her pride. She needs to do her jobs perfectly, even if it takes her all the time and distractions in the world, and her anxiety makes sure of that. 

Percy senses something with her trailing off, and clears his throat. “Alright. Well don’t worry, I have some pre-21st century stuff too.” He takes apart some of the pile and sets it aside. 

They get through the rest of his skater clothes presentation without another hitch—she takes note of his grunge shirts, his distressed jeans, his tattered combat boots, his hoodies and windbreakers.  _ She Kills Monsters will have a lot of Percy in it _ , she thinks. It’s easy to talk to him. Percy just radiates positive energy, and even through the screen, it reaches her like the sunlight coming through his window. 

Even after they end their call, Annabeth goes to him for advice. She snaps a picture of her sketch, an outfit built around Percy’s Nirvana shirt. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: what do you think??

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: oh my god I’m transported to seventh grade 

His response makes her laugh, a brisk sound after the silence she’d gotten used to. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: omg I’m so sorry no one should have to go through seventh grade again 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: agreed 

Annabeth scrolls through an image search, looking for some inspiration. The outfits she finds are much edgier than she’d expect: leather jackets turned metallic with the lighting, hair slicked back with gel. She sends them to Percy anyway. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: what about these 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: okay wait 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: don’t get mad at me annabeth but this play is about nerdy high schoolers not peak punk 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: but it’s in the 90s??

It takes a moment for the three typing dots to pop up. She thinks—no,  _ hopes _ —that if they were having this conversation in real life, he’d be giving her that stupid grin. 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: skdhdj annabeth there is so much more to the 90s than Nirvana 

She doesn’t know what, though. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: guess you’re gonna have to show me 

It feels like a leap, a way to harness the sunlight and bring it to her. Annabeth sets her phone down to calm her anticipation, and starts sketching out a rough figure. It’s questionable—she’s always been better at drawing the clothes than the anatomy—but it’s good enough.

The phone dings, and she immediately snatches it from the desk. 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: I will. 

(He does.) 

* * *

Thanks to Percy, she gets all the costume ideas roughly done for Monday. There are some details she doesn’t get to add, but it’s okay. Details are for sewing. 

Week one of rehearsals goes by quickly—she spends her time taking measurements for the fantasy costumes. They’re in full swing. The actors attend blocking rehearsals. Set design saws boards in the shop. Annabeth gathers fabric left behind from previous shows and begins making patterns. 

It goes like this until the fifth day of rehearsal. The week is over, yet she’s still at school. Annabeth knew when signing up that the hours were going to be difficult, but that doesn’t stop her eyelids from drooping as she cuts heavy red velvet. It’s 9:30 pm. She  _ has  _ to finish these cuts. If Annabeth doesn’t finish today, her mind will nag about it the entire weekend and she won’t be able to do anything about it. She doesn’t even notice Percy until he sits down next to her with a bag of fries. 

“It’s late,” he notes. 

“I noticed.” 

Percy pushes the paper bag towards her. “Travis and Connor walked to the burger place near Dairy Queen earlier. You should eat.” 

“Can’t get grease on the fabric,” she mutters. 

“Well,  _ I’m  _ gonna eat.” 

“I have a pack of yogurt raisins in my backpack if you want some,” Annabeth says, pointing towards the corner with her chalk. Her eyes are glued to her fabric scissors, making sure she’s cutting along the lines exactly. They don’t have enough fabric for mistakes. 

She feels something poke her cheek. Annabeth ignores it until the scissors snip one last time and her cut falls from the bulk of velvet. Satisfied, she turns to find Percy with a french fry outstretched. 

“Huh?”

“If you can't get grease on your hands just don’t use your hands,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“So you want me to just grab that.”

“Yep.” 

“With my mouth.”

“Mhm.”

“Like a horse.”

“Precisely.” He gives her his signature grin, and that all but convinces her. Annabeth leans forward and takes the french fry gingerly in between her teeth. It’s a good thing everyone besides them and Beckendorf has already gone home, because she would have been mortified. 

Still, it’s intimate. Annabeth’s close to him, close in a way that she’s never been with someone before. It’s like she’s been close to him her entire life, when in reality she probably doesn’t know the first thing about his. 

The fries are cold and tough, their inherent fry-ness lost to time. But Annabeth doesn’t care. She lets Percy give her the rest of the fries, lets him try to toss the yogurt raisins into her mouth, lets him take care of her as she puts all the cuts and her sewing kit into the costume closet. It’s a moment that one could forget easily if they weren’t so keen to remember it. 

* * *

There haven’t been any chasms lately. There’s the occasional thought spiral, but it’s not about loss or art or life. All Annabeth can think now is  _ Percy, Percy, Percy.  _ While she’s in class, during rehearsal, late at night when she’s trying to sleep.

He’s the sunlight, Annabeth reminds herself. 

Even at night, the sun finds a way to shine on Earth. Its light bounces off the moon and comes in beams through her window, illuminating her room just like in the day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy december my lovelies!!! here is chapter two of the tech au <33 still feels absolutely surreal to be posting this but here we are!!! this is a bit of a shorter chapter, unfortunately, but it just felt right to end it here. i actually came up with this week's title All By MyselfTM lmao what a surprise...chapter 3 will be up around this time next week!!


	3. i used to dream about it (but it's been here all along)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenagers are stupid, and Percy and Annabeth are no exception.

The weekend after week two of rehearsals is packed. 

Well, not packed. It’s just that Annabeth has something to do on both Saturday and Sunday, and if a day includes a social event, she considers it packed. 

Saturday is stage combat day. Annabeth gets that tech is starting to become more involved with the actors, but she has no clue why Mr. Brunner called them there. She watches many, many actors (though she only knows Luke Castellan and Silena Beauregard) practice parrying and disarming with wooden swords, and all she can think is that it’s a waste of a good tech day. 

Annabeth sits in the back with the building crew. She’s slowly starting to learn some names—Travis and Connor Stoll, the ones who went out for the fries, Tyson, a really sweet techie and (she thinks) related to Percy in some way. Nico, a freshman who was originally put on lighting but is working with building until tech week. Though she recognizes some others—a girl with a leaf-printed backpack, some kids singing songs from last year’s musical—their names are lost to her. 

They’re an alright crowd, the building crew. All of them are bored out of their mind, which means they just talk amongst themselves.

“So, Annabeth,” one of the Stolls starts, popping a fry from today’s bag into his mouth. “How ya doing?” 

“I, um,” Annabeth says eloquently, “I’m fine I guess? Yeah. Fine.” 

She’s not used to talking in tech—costume design is a lone department. 

“What do you think of Luke? You used to be close to him right?” the other Stoll, Connor, she thinks, interjects. He nudges his chin at the actors practicing their stances with wooden swords.

Annabeth’s eye catches on one figure taller and blonder than the rest. Luke. His stance is more predatory than everyone else’s, as if he’s had experience. As if he’s had to fight his entire life. 

He has. 

It’s the first time she’s looked at him, _really_ looked at him in years, and all her memories come back in a flood.

Annabeth remembers him from before he turned the way he is. Before he rounded on her and Thalia, four years ago, and cut them out of his life. She was twelve then, and Thalia was thirteen. Luke snapped, mentally and physically, and drifted further and further from the sweet kid he used to be. Annabeth still doesn’t know why. Maybe it was the transition into high school; maybe it was something with his (lack of) family. 

He used to be her crutch. His honey-like words would stop her tears. He was one of the only people who understood whatever was happening between her and her parents. 

She doesn’t know what he is now. 

People change. Annabeth hates it, but people change. As she looks at him, the wooden sword balanced in his hand, she wonders what could have been. She wonders if she’ll ever give him a second chance, because if you’re truly meant for something, you’ll go back to it. 

_That’s bad advice for people_ . Percy’s words come back to her. _You’re right_ , she had said. 

When Annabeth saw his name on the cast list, she’d decided to avoid him as much as possible. She’s in tech, after all. How hard could it be? 

It dawns on her that today is the start of increased techie-actor interaction. If she’s already crushing herself in nostalgia and confusion now….

Two snaps pull her out of her memory. Travis, Connor, and Percy are looking at her expectantly. 

“I….” Annabeth coughs. “I was. A long time ago.”

“We remember you,” Connor says, reaching into the bag for yet another french fry. _How do they still have fries?_

“Huh?” 

“He’s our cousin,” Travis drawls. “Used to be a good one too. Something happened to him in high school though, and he is now officially the most annoying person we know.” 

“And we know _each other_ ,” Connor adds. “I swear, he thinks he’s God’s gift to the theater. You should have seen him when he found out he got understudy and _not_ male lead.” 

“Don’t seniors usually get leads though?” Percy wonders aloud. He’d been silently listening up until this point. 

“So if the main character’s boyfriend—male lead—is played by a junior, and Luke’s not even playing an actual character...” Annabeth starts, trying to make out what Travis and Connor are telling her. 

“It means he’s not as good as he thinks he is,” Connor finishes for her. “And if you knew him you knew his anger too.” 

Annabeth’s mouth goes dry. “Yeah.” 

Travis passes the bag of fries to Percy. “All we’re saying is,” he says, exchanging a look with Connor, “be careful when you have to measure him for costumes.” 

Annabeth lets Percy feed her a french fry as her mind takes off like a bullet train. The Stolls, Percy had told her, are pranksters. They do a lot of harmless stuff, like putting tools in the wrong place to piss off Clarisse. _(“We all like to piss off Clarisse. Even Beckendorf participates sometimes.”)_

There’s no glint in their eyes now. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad?” she tries. Truly, Luke hasn’t been a part of her thought chasms in a while. At the beginning, there was hurt—a _lot_ of hurt. Annabeth had spent weeks wondering what she did to drive him away. But she had Thalia and they got through it together. The loss of a friendship affected them both, and she’s sure it affected Luke too. _You only realize you love something when you lose it_ , Annabeth reminds herself, transported to the computer lab, lonely without Percy’s presence. 

“Just be careful,” Percy mutters. His eyes are dark, un-sunlike, but they’re not on her. They’re on Luke, who’s sparring viciously with his prop sword. “He’s gonna break the props, I already know it. And that’s not a good sign.” 

Annabeth watches him with Percy by her side and an uneasy feeling in her stomach. 

Luke has become an afterthought throughout the years. It took a while, but she got over him, and she doesn’t want to go back. 

It’s not long before Mr. Brunner calls a break. He talks to the actors about their stances and what they can do to make it look believable. He’s…..strange. She’s never been taught by him, because she doesn’t actually take the tech _class_. This is all extracurricular for her. But as she watches him handle a wooden longsword, she realizes he’s incredibly animated and that he truly enjoys sharing his knowledge. Maybe it’s a theater thing. 

“Mr. Brunner,” someone in the back calls. 

“Yes?”

“Can tech play with the swords since you guys are on break?” 

The director ponders it for a second. “I don’t see why not,” he says. “I trust you know how to handle props?” 

He gets a chorus of ‘yes sir’s. “Very well then. Go ahead.” 

Annabeth’s fellow techies scramble to the rack and grab a sword. It’s times like these that she’s reminded that all of them are kids—dumb, high school, get-excited-with-swords kids. 

She grabs one herself and rolls the hilt in her grip. It’s heavy; well balanced. Annabeth doesn’t have a lot of experience with swords, but she remembers sparring with jousts in a karate class she took forever ago. She plays with the equipment a little, twirling it in the air like it’s a tennis racket. 

A clatter sounds behind Annabeth, and she turns around to see Percy quickly picking his sword back up. He glances at her, then looks away when their eyes meet, just like on the first day in the circle. The only difference is that Percy’s face is flushed red, and he clears his throat multiple times. 

Annabeth turns in the other direction, pretending she didn’t notice so as to spare his dignity. The laughs don’t make their way out of her chest, but her shoulders shake and her eyes pinch shut. 

“You gonna stop laughing at me, Chase?” a voice calls, humorous and bright. Like the sunlight. Percy. 

She spins and pushes the tip of her prop against his chest before he can react. “Maybe, Jackson. Maybe.” The smile is there on her face, in her voice, in her heart. 

“It’s not my fault you’re distracting.”

“It’s not my fault you’re distracted,” she counters. 

“Got me there.” Percy grins at her in his signature way, an eyebrow cocked and his head tilted. 

Annabeth lowers her sword, but then Percy lunges towards her with his. She blocks the blow on instinct. Their prop swords cross in the air, the tension keeping them in place. 

“Who’s distracted now?” he hums, the grin still on his face. Percy’s clearly not holding back with his strength, and neither is she. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” They pull their swords apart, then clash again. They dance, almost, with the way their blocks and parries bring them in and around the rehearsal room. It’s not complex, and it’s slow. They’re just moving together. For a joyous moment, the uneasy feeling leaves her stomach. It’s just Percy and it’s just Annabeth, laughing and playing and being stupid together. 

The stupidity doesn’t stop there, however. 

* * *

  
  


During the week, Percy and Annabeth had discussed raiding his mom’s storage box. “She was in high school in 1995,” Percy had told her. “So she’s probably your best resource.” 

As it turns out, Sally Jackson is many things, best resource included. She opens the door with a kind smile and eyes, and suddenly Annabeth sees where Percy gets his inherent sun-like quality from. It’s like Annabeth feels safe with her. Safe in a way she’s never felt with her own parents. 

The moment Annabeth steps over the threshold of their apartment, an aroma wafts through the air. Cookies. She’s smelled cookies many times before--her stepmother’s not a bad baker. But it’s _different_. Annabeth can’t figure out why, and her mind fixates on trying to as Mrs. Jackson’s arm leads her into the living room. 

And the apartment, it’s... _what’s the word? Cozy? Sweet?_ Annabeth smiles politely and answers Mrs. Jackson’s questions, but her mind is somewhere else. It needs an answer. Not just any answer either, a satisfied one. Vaguely, Annabeth hears her say that Percy will be there soon, and to just wait on the couch while she looks for her box of memories. She nods on instinct, and Mrs. Jackson seems happy with that. 

Annabeth doesn’t get her word until after a few minutes of sitting on the couch. It’s personal, she realizes. The word she’s looking for is _personal_ . There are hundreds of photos on the walls. Tiny potted plants on a bookshelf. Different blankets in mismatched colors and materials. They all just _fit_ , tied together to create an atmosphere that reminds Annabeth of... 

Of a home. 

Home. She’s heard the word before, but it’s never meant much more than something she never had. 

Annabeth doesn’t even realize she’s crying until a tear drips onto her arm. Her lack of home is nothing new, so _why is she crying?_ She wants to figure it out, she really does, but footsteps sound in the hallway and her dad’s harsh _“Don’t make a scene!”_ plays in her head. She hastily wipes at her eyes with a sleeve. 

Mrs. Jackson comes in holding a wooden chest. It’s intricately carved, and it’s big, but she has no trouble carrying it. She sets it down on the floor and sits in front of it, beckoning Annabeth to join her. 

“This is all the stuff I have from high school, dear,” Mrs. Jackson says, creaking open the lid. 

As she does so, Annabeth hears the lock open. She turns her head, and soon Percy appears at the living room doorway, his backpack hanging off one shoulder and a bright orange lanyard clutched in his hand. He’s not surprised to see her; she’d already texted him that she’s there. 

“Oh, come on,” he says. “You guys started without me?”   
  


Mrs. Jackson smiles at her son, and it sends a shock of pain through Annabeth. That smile….

She _wants_ it. She wants it in a raw, unpretty way. She wants to feel someone beaming at her; she wants to feel like someone’s reason to smile. 

Call it narcissistic. 

Before the thought drills a deeper hole in her mind, Percy sits down on the other side of his mom. “Okay, go,” he declares, tossing the lanyard into his bag. 

Mrs. Jackson launches into an explanation of each of the things in the box. Photo albums, leather sketchbooks, dried flowers. Everything has a meaning. Everything worth keeping anyway. 

Does it help her with costumes? Meh. The people in Mrs. Jackson’s glossy photos are wearing clothes similar to her designs. If anything, she just confirms that they’re accurate.

Is it useless? Absolutely not. Annabeth really gets the _feel_ of the era, and that, she argues, is just as important as sewing costumes. And, she’s getting to know this kind, amazing home—that counts for something, right? 

The box is a time capsule. Annabeth can _see_ Mrs. Jackson going back and reliving a different part of her life. The older woman holds out a bright, saturated photo, and Annabeth and Percy lean closer to her to see it: Percy’s mom at around their age, with a man and a woman. Her parents, most likely. 

There’s a shift in Mrs. Jackson’s smile. It’s still kind, still warm, but it’s sad too. “This is one of the last photos I took with my parents,” she says softly. Her voice is steady, like she’s practiced saying it before. “It was my dad’s birthday. We didn’t take family photos a lot.” 

_Do you wish you had?_ Annabeth wants to ask. She finds herself back in the lonely computer lab, and for a brief moment, she wonders if she’ll have to lose her parents to love them. But hasn’t she already lost her parents? Didn’t she come to the realization that her only family is her brothers a long time ago? 

“Is that why there are so many photos on the walls?” she asks instead.

Percy’s mom nods. “I want to capture every moment I’m privileged to get.” 

It sort of answers her unspoken question, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you thought i was gonna write a fic about a play and NOT include a flirting with props scene??? i love them too much for that babey. this is actually based off a memory i have--my friends were laughing while messing around with prop swords, and if that's not a Percabeth Thing idk what is. plus i thought it was a good nod to canon bc that <3 definitely happened in canon <3 this week's title from "To Have A Home" from a very potter sequel!!


	4. we're doing our best and our best is okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, tech days are slow and all you can do is watch.

Their show is supposed to open on November 1st. 

It’s exactly a month before opening night, which means Annabeth is dutifully sewing cuts for the cloaks together. Her fingers cramp, pushing the dark velvet along, and her neck is bent at an angle. The whirring of the machine is drowned out by Montel Jordan’s “This Is How We Do It” pumping through her headphones. 

Percy had slid in at her lunch table right at the end of the period, holding a piece of notebook paper. “Here,” he’d said. “I told you there was more to the 90s than Nirvana.” 

It was a list of songs, she soon found out, and she added them to her playlist while her history teacher droned on about Manifest Destiny. 

They keep her company now, at a time when Percy can’t. He’s actively choosing to be the sunlight these days. It’s like he’s adamant to reach her, through music or texts or brief looks as he passes by her workspace. And she lets him—he’s a force of happiness, a force of good, who, for some reason, chose  _ her  _ life to walk into. She’d be stupid to tell him to leave. 

In the back of her mind, she notes that she  _ has _ to finish sewing by the end of the week to be prepared for the fittings on Saturday. The high school costumes (or as Percy says, skater costumes) are all done and hanging on a clothes rack behind her. After the designs were done, it really wasn’t that hard to find actual clothes for each of the high school characters. In fact, most of the actors had clothing that matched the style she was going for, and she had nothing against using stuff they already had. It was less work for her. 

(Though in her opinion, none of the costumes look as good as the ones Percy suggested.) 

And so she continues—alone, diligent, and jamming out to Percy’s playlist. 

* * *

Thursday evening, Annabeth snips a thread pulled taut between her finished costume and the sewing machine. It’s the last clothing item they need—a skirt that Annabeth painstakingly added bunched tulle layers to. She’d stayed after rehearsal until eight or nine the day before, alone in the workshop with just Clarisse and Mr. Brunner discussing blocking. 

She steps back to look at it. The bunching adds a shredded look, and Annabeth imagines that if someone were to wear it, they’d look something like a predatory bird. It’s intended for the  _ succubi _ characters—demon cheerleaders. Annabeth thinks she did a good job, actually. She hangs it on the costume rack and heads to the auditorium. The only costumes left to make—dragon heads—rely on the building crew. 

It occurs to her that for the first time since rehearsals started, she has free time on a  _ weekday _ . And then it occurs to her that there’s no way her parents would be willing to pick her up from school earlier than she originally told them to. They have priorities, and she’s long since accepted that she’s not one of them. 

Blankly, Annabeth shoves her things onto a seat in the house, taking out her phone. It’s only 5:30. If she’s gonna have to wait until 8, she might as well get some homework done. And she tries—really, she tries. But there are so many sounds and textures and people that her homework ends up forgotten. 

The stage is set in organized chaos. There are three wooden platforms of different heights spanning the stage. It looks like the winners’ platform at the end of an Olympic event, though it’s unpainted. A backdrop displays a map—they’re in the D&D setting. Three girls stand in front of the middle platform, holding prop swords (that look very real).

“Line?” one of them, a freshman probably, asks. 

“No,” is all Clarisse says. 

The girl grows more confused. “Line? Please?” 

“No,” Clarisse repeats. Her patience is getting stretched thin, Annabeth can tell. 

“I’m really sorry Clarisse, I promise I’ll memorize the lines but for now could you just tell me?” There’s almost... desperation in her voice.The girl looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and the person next to her (who Annabeth now recognizes as Silena) puts a hand on her shoulder. 

Clarisse slumps onto her table, hand clutching at the corner of her open binder. Annabeth hears a muffled scream, and she’s suddenly glad she didn’t apply for stage manager. 

She sits back up, her face completely neutral. “Your line,” Clarisse says, evenly as she can, “is ‘no’.” 

The girl’s face is understandably red, and Annabeth hears Silena reassuring her before someone sits down in the neighboring seat. 

“Hey,” Percy says, his eyes on the stage. 

“You guys did a really good job building the set,” Annabeth offers. It’s true. Though unfinished, it provides the ambiance of adventure. 

“Yeah?” The pride in his voice swells, but Percy being Percy, stays humble. “We still have to paint it but we got enough done to start the weirder costumes.” 

“Oh!” Annabeth claps. “How’s that going?” 

“It’s uh, it’s interesting,” he says, a hand rubbing the back of his neck and an embarrassed smile on his face. “If you have nothing to do maybe you could come into the shop and oversee it….?” 

“We’re going back to scene one!” Clarisse announces before she can answer. “Scene! One! That is Narrator, Agnes…..”

She lists out more character names, and the actors scramble to follow her directions. 

“Okay, wait.” Annabeth sits up in her seat, her hand mindlessly straying to Percy’s arm. “I actually wanna see this.” 

A boy stands on the middle platform, his hands balled in a fist. A quick look at the script tells Annabeth that he’s the narrator--the one who introduces the story. The boy starts speaking, but both his posture and voice are timid. “In a time before…” 

“Project,” Mr. Brunner calls from the back. 

He looks startled, but he shakes his head and starts over. “In a time before--” 

“ _ Project _ ,” Clarisse repeats. “The entire house has to be able to hear you.” 

“--before Facebook, World of Warcraft, and Massive Multiplayer RPGs….” His voice had started out loud, but by the end of his monologue, it decrescendoed to a normal speaking tone. 

“Okay, stop!” Clarisse commands, genuinely looking stressed out of her mind. She whirls around in her seat to look at Annabeth. “Percy, Annabeth, did you hear any of that?” 

It takes a second for Annabeth to process the question, and clearly it’s the same for Percy. She speaks first: “Uh, I heard the first sentence but after that it was kind of quiet.” 

“Yeah, same,” Percy adds, seemingly recovered from his startlement. 

Clarisse turns back around. “You heard them!” she declares. “They can’t hear you. You don’t have to start over with the monologue but project, project, project! You absolutely cannot speak how you speak normally because then the house  _ will not be able to make out the lines _ and….” 

Her spiel continues as Percy leans in towards Annabeth. “I didn’t think she even realized we were here,” he says, voice barely a whisper, but face lit up in a smile. Annabeth has to cover her mouth to keep herself from laughing. “I guess we’re terrible at sneaking around.”    
  


“It’s not even sneaking,” Percy argues. 

Clarisse turns around again as the scene picks back up. “Will you two  _ be quiet? _ ” she seethes. “Of course I noticed. Y’all project better than the actors.” Without explaining or letting them respond, she turns back to the stage. 

Percy opens his mouth to say something, but Clarisse beats him to it without even looking back. “That is  _ not  _ a compliment!” 

His forehead drops to her shoulder. Percy’s chest is shaking silently with laughter, and so is she. The touch of his nose burns her skin, sun-like as ever. These are the moments she’ll remember, Annabeth thinks as his smile presses into her arm. The moments of laughter and elation, not the anxiety. She’ll  _ choose _ to forget the negatives. 

“We should pay attention,” she wheezes, her face aching. Percy nods in agreement, turning to face the stage. Annabeth can’t bring herself to look at him--she knows if she does, they’ll end up back where they started. 

Apparently, it’s evident that her mind is distracted, because Percy leans in once more. “He’s talking about how Tilly’s a weird middle schooler and that she always got shit for it from her sister.” 

“Agnes. That’s who Silena plays.” 

“Right.” 

The narrator is at the end of his prologue when Annabeth gives it all of her attention. His voice sounds more confident than before, and Clarisse hasn’t interrupted in a while. 

“Average Agnes made one grand wish during her Junior Year of High School,” the boy says, his voice gravelly, his head lowered. Annabeth imagines him wearing the cloak she sewed, and in her mind, it  _ works _ . It feels like everything is slowly starting to come together, like the edges of a puzzle are done. They just need to fill in the middle. 

“I wish I didn’t have such a geeky sister!” Silena— _ Agnes _ —declares. 

_ Whoa. _

Annabeth knows that it’s just part of a script (that she’s read before), but the line cuts deep. But before she can truly react, the scene trudges on. 

“And so the Gods answered her wish….” the narrator continued. He was really embodying the character now--grave, sympathetic. “By smiting down her young sibling in a car crash.” 

“What? No!” 

The pain in her voice hits Annabeth--Silena really did deserve lead. Silena falls to her knees as the girl playing Tilly descends off the platform, disappearing from the stage. Logically, Annabeth knows that she’s hiding behind the set, but it looked like she fell off the face of the world. 

They’re doing a good job. 

The narrator finishes up the scene, and as Clarisse calls a break, Annabeth realizes she’s shaking in a way she doesn’t like one bit. 

She almost forgets Percy. His face is dark, brooding, so different from the Percy who was joking around with her five minutes prior. Annabeth imagines she looks similar. 

“Let’s head to the shop, yeah?” she says, her voice thick. She clears her throat. Percy simply nods. 

The workshop is on the other side of the fine arts building for some reason, which Annabeth never noticed until now. They take their time--Annabeth uses the walk to process what they saw. She thinks of her own brothers, and she thinks of loss--bitter, revealing loss. If she’d never picked up on her brothers’ kindness, how would she feel about losing them? And her parents, god, her parents….would she even feel? 

“I can’t imagine losing my sister,” Percy says, breaking the silence before she can. His eyebrows are knitted together. 

“You have a sister?”    
  


“Yeah.” His mouth flattens, and if it were to curl any further, it would break into his trademark smile. His mom’s trademark smile. “Half sister technically. She was out with Paul the day you came.” Annabeth doesn’t expect him to say anything else, but he takes a ragged breath and continues. “I had a really shitty stepfather before Paul and it cost me...a lot.” 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

Annabeth doesn’t want to pry—she understands wanting to be closed off. “Maybe,” she says instead. “But it’s never your fault if someone’s a piece of shit for no reason. It took me a while to learn that.” 

_ Don’t think about him _ , Annabeth tells herself.  _ You cannot think about Luke.  _ She refuses to let the thought worm its way into her head, refuses to let herself reopen that book. 

“I think you’re right,” he says quietly. “Saw your face during Agnes’s lines though.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I guess it’s the same thing. My...my half brothers are the only good part of my household. My stepmom isn’t terrible but I-it’s pretty clear I’m not her family. Or my dad’s, for that matter.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says simply. And she know that there isn’t really much else to say. 

“I...I wonder if I would feel anything if I lost my parents,” Annabeth mumbles. “You only know you love something when you lose it.” The thought that had been circling her brain for weeks finally makes it outside. “What if I just don’t love them?” 

They’re in front of the workshop door, sounds of whirring and sawing coming from beyond it. Surprisingly, Percy wraps an arm around her shoulders and brings her into a hug. “You’re not obligated to love anyone, ‘Beth,” she hears above her head. “But if you do, I think it just takes a single moment to realize it. And then you’ll know. Maybe you’ll get that moment from them one day.” 

He’s the sunlight. But the sunlight is a product formed after years and years of pressure and reactions. The sun, after all, is ball of compressed gas. 

How could a ball of gas end up as something so beautiful? 

When Percy pulls away, Annabeth realizes she misses him. She misses his arm around her shoulders, his cheek resting on the top of her head, his words not quite answering her question, but providing comfort nonetheless. And that’s when it clicks—a single moment is all it takes. 

She’s gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> halfway through the fic!! jfc i'm so sorry for this asdkjgksfj i simply love them too much. this chapter contains lines from the script of She Kills Monsters by Qui Nguyen and this week's title is from Sunlight and Storms from the Starry musical. chapter five coming next week <3


	5. (i was there) i remember it all too well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past has a nasty habit of coming back.

Saturday morning, sunlight is blazing through the window, warming up Annabeth’s room and her heart. Her phone buzzes at the desk. She’s pulling a brush through her hair—fittings are in an hour and she’s gonna be working for a while. Annabeth twists her hair into a bun, running a pencil through it to keep it in place. A familiar, but unidentifiable tune hums through the air. 

Annabeth had decided that she was, in fact, not in love with Percy. The conversation they had made her realize that yes, she loves him, but after careful consideration, Annabeth concluded that she loves him like a friend. Like Grover. Who she should really check in on.  _ Percy’s just the first person to actually validate you. That’s it. You’re just so starved for affection that you tricked yourself into thinking you’re in love with him.  _

Her phone buzzes again. She picks it up fully expecting it to be a meme from Percy. Instead, the text makes her heart drop. 

>Mr. Brunner to She Kills Monsters Cast and Crew: Actors and techies, I have some bad news. Our lead, Michael Yew, had a bit of an emergency and is now in the hospital. Do not panic—the role of Miles goes to Luke Castellan. Michael will be alright! We are thinking that he can do curtains. Actors, continue to go to your fittings today. You should have signed up for them last week; they will take place in the theater room. Tech, keep doing what you’re doing. 

Well. There goes her plan to avoid Luke. 

Annabeth shoves the worry down and grabs her sewing kit. Fittings would be a pain, but they’re necessary. She just has to get through fifty actors complaining about how their costumes don’t fit. No big deal. 

It is  _ so _ a big deal. 

By fitting #6, Annabeth’s serotonin level is at an all time low. Well, that’s an exaggeration, but it’s down there. The actors had no idea how to schedule—fitting #1 was at 10 a.m., fitting #2 was at 11:15 a.m., and fittings 3-5 were back to back from 11:30 to 12. 

She trudges forward, however, plastering a smile on her face each time. Most of them are good—the high school costumes fit well, and the fantasy ones only need some adjustment. 

She gets to the second to last fitting of the day—Luke’s. The sun is setting outside the theater room’s window, and Annabeth is too tired to think about the fact that she’s going to talk to him for the first time in four years. Percy’s playlist plays in the background, providing some ease and comfort. 

Someone knocks on the door. 

“Come in,” Annabeth says, trying to be sweet but already bitter. 

Luke steps into the room. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. Maybe he’s still the same Luke he was four years ago. 

“Character name?” Her tone is clipped, trying to stay as even as possible. She’s sure that if she doesn’t keep it flat, all of the hurt will come back up, and even worse, it’ll be  _ perceivable _ . 

“Miles.” His voice is proud, like he didn’t get the role because Michael happened to deck his knee. 

Annabeth finds the high school costume for Miles. It’s a regular shirt and jeans with a letterman jacket. She’d decided that since Miles is described as a jock, she’d spare him the skater look. 

Annabeth tosses the hanger at him. “Go into the closet and change.” 

“Listen, Annabeth—”

“I’m not asking.” 

He leaves for a moment, then comes back in the costume five minutes later. “It fits fine,” he says.

“Good.” 

Annabeth hauls the second costume—a  _ gelatinous cube _ , one of the D&D monsters—out to the middle of the room. It’s a cube frame made from PVC pipes. A translucent green plastic is wrapped around the middle belt of the cube, creating a jelly look. It leaves the top and bottom open so one could step into it. Two straps are attached to the top of the frame. It looks  _ good _ —Annabeth mentally notes to thank Percy and the building crew for making it.

“Step inside the frame and pull the straps up to your shoulders like it’s a backpack,” Annabeth commands, not yet daring to look Luke in the eye. 

He complies. The frame hangs lower from his shoulders than it should—an issue with the straps. Annabeth quickly adjusts them and writes down how much it needs to be altered. 

And then they’re done—there was no yelling, no fear, no crying. Just a whole lot of awkwardness. 

Of course, as soon as she thinks that, the situation is flipped upside down. 

“I’m sorry,” Luke rushes. He’d already changed back into his clothes, and Annabeth just really wants him to leave. 

“I have another fitting soon,” she says coldly. “You should go.” 

“I’m still sorry,” he repeats. 

“I know you are.” Part of her wants to accept it, but the other part of her remembers the hurt and the crying and the loss. “I hope you understand that it’s too late.” 

“I’m just trying to fucking say I’m sorry, can you at least accept that?” His voice is rough, his eyes are narrowed, and he takes a step forward. Annabeth takes a step back. 

_ Be careful _ , Percy had said. 

“I can’t, actually.” Annabeth bites her tongue, and she wishes that she had a less-inflated sense of pride. “You’re done with your fitting. Get out.” 

His face contorts into a snarl. “I am  _ not— _ ”

“Annabeth?” 

It’s Silena at the door. Annabeth wants to run up and hide behind her, or hug her, or  _ something _ , but Luke is still in the way. 

“I’m here for my fitting?” Silena asks, eyes suspiciously narrowed at Luke. 

Annabeth clears her throat. “Yeah, come on in Silena.” 

The senior girl brushes past Luke. “I’d prefer it if you weren’t here,” she tells him. “And I think Annabeth would too.” 

Luke looks like he wants to argue, but Silena glares at him and he eventually admits defeat. 

She turns to Annabeth after he leaves. “You alright, babe?” 

“Yeah.” Annabeth takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “ I am.” 

“I’ll report him to Brunner,” Silena promises. “Charlie’s been getting bad vibes off Castellan since the beginning. I don’t think we can get him off this show because he’s the only understudy, but we can prevent him from getting cast in another one.” 

“You really don’t have to,” Annabeth starts, but is cut off by Silena shaking her head. 

“Nonsense. I saw you. You were scared—that’s messed up. He’s a messed up guy. And I don’t think anyone should act across him if he’s like that, either.” 

“You have to act across him though,” Annabeth reminds as she pulls Agnes’s cheerleading costume from the rack. 

“I can handle myself. Besides, even if I can’t, I’ve got Charlie.” 

“Beckendorf’s strong.” 

“And so am I,” Silena promises. “We have your back.” 

And watching Silena walk to the changing closet with a confidence level she can only hope to reach, Annabeth believes her. 

  
  


But of course, her day just gets shittier from there. 

Annabeth walks out of the fine arts building at 8:15 p.m., the sky a dusty dark blue. She’s engrossed in making sure her dad knows to pick her up—so much so that she doesn’t notice the commotion until a body slams against the pole in front of her. 

She jumps to the side to see that it’s Percy—face screwed in pain, hand holding his shoulder. But the impact of the crash doesn’t stop him. He shakes his head and charges forward. Annabeth follows him with her sight to find Luke with a bloody nose and watery eyes narrowed. 

“What the fuck?” 

It comes out without meaning to. Both of them whip around to look at her, eyes blown wide in surprise. She’s almost in shock—Percy had never really seemed the type to get in a fight, and she thought Luke would know better than to beat up someone on campus. 

“It’s not—” 

“Shut up,” she snaps. “What the fuck are you guys thinking? Do you realize that you could get kicked off the show? Or even expelled?  _ Honestly _ , what were you thinking?!” 

Luke tries explaining, but Percy beats him to it. 

“He was hitting on a 13 year old,” he says coldly, arms crossed and eyes ducking to the streetlamp. 

Luke’s unwillingness to meet her gaze tells Annabeth all she needs to know, and she feels her blood boil.

She takes a deep breath.  _ I should not be handling this,  _ Annabeth thinks.  _ It is not my job to teach him not to be a shit person. It is not my job to teach him not to be a shit person. It is not— _

Annabeth’s mouth betrays her brain. “Get the fuck out before you earn something not even stage makeup can fix,” she warns. “And never— _ never _ —do that again, or else you won’t have just me to answer to.” She tries exuding some of the confidence that Silena had demonstrated—the steeliness of her glare, the direction of her tone. 

Apparently, it works, because Luke walks away (but not before scoffing and muttering something under his breath). 

Annabeth rounds on Percy. “You can’t get into fights,” she pleads. “Try, okay?”

“It was  _ his _ —”

“I agree,” she presses. “I mean, I have some idea. You’re not to blame at all. It’s actually a good thing that you called him out on it.” 

“Then why—”

“Because the  _ way  _ you called him out could have gotten you expelled.” 

She’s right. They both know it. 

Her phone dings with a text from her dad telling her he’s in the visitor parking lot. 

“We will talk about this later,” she says, her voice firm. 

Annabeth doesn’t wait for his answer before trudging to her dad’s waiting car. 

  
  


Once she gets home, the first thing Annabeth does is take a nice, long shower. The warm water is soothing—it relieves the tension that had built up in her fingers and shoulders over the past month. But it does nothing for the tension in her mind. The thought pops into her head:  _ but what if Percy did get expelled?  _ And because she  _ can’t  _ leave it alone, it turns into  _ we’d lose touch _ , which turns into  _ he’d just leave my life,  _ which turns into  _ he just entered it, how could he leave?  _

The thought is selfish. It’s desperate. And it continues. It digs and digs at Annabeth’s brain until she’s left standing in the chasm she tried so hard to avoid. 

She guesses it’s evident that she’s distressed, because her brothers take one look at her and coax her into watching  _ Mamma Mia  _ with them. One large pizza later, Annabeth is lying on the couch, and Bobby and Matthew are on the floor. Their parents had long since gone to bed, leaving them with the bright colors of Greece flashing through the TV.

To be frank, Annabeth doesn’t have a clue as to what’s going on in the movie. Amanda Seyfried is singing about  _ something  _ and  _ someone’s _ reminiscing about their youth. It registers as noise and her thoughts take center stage.  _ You said you’re gonna talk about it _ , they remind her.  _ Talk about it then. Do not let your only good friendship deteriorate.  _

Annabeth picks up her phone for the first time since she got home—there’s one notification from Mr. Brunner, announcing that tech week begins next Monday. Normally, she’d be falling onto the floor, but after everything that happened earlier today, she just can’t be bothered. She clears the notification and taps hard on Percy’s profile picture—one where his eyes are closed and he’s sticking out his tongue. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: so about today 

The typing symbol comes immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her to reach out. 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: actually i decided that you can’t chastise me because you do the exact same thing 

She frowns.

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: i do the same thing VERBALLY 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: you can’t see words 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: it doesn’t matter!!! we’re both stubborn as fuck 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: i guess we are 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: remember how you told me to be careful? well apparently i can’t stop myself from arguing with people!! 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: i know. in less disgusting situations it’d actually be kind of endearing 

She chooses to leave  _ that  _ alone for the time being. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: i can’t force you to do anything obviously but even if Luke tries something please please don’t fight him 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: physically at least i don’t care what you say to him 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: okay but do you realize that there’s literally no other way to stop people like him 

It feels like a rock collided with her head. Annabeth’s heart sinks with the realization that he’s right—she doesn’t trust the guidance counselors one bit, and it’s not like he’ll listen to a sophomore. 

He won’t listen to a sophomore unless….

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: there is!!! 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: he almost raged on me after his fitting but Silena interrupted. she was super assertive and he fucked off immediately, so i guess that’s the key? i tried channeling it and he DID leave us alone

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: and he stopped fighting me when you came outside too 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: which means he won’t throw hands if there’s a witness. but we can’t guarantee a witness all the time. it’s not like security checks cameras. what if i wasn’t out there? that kid….

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: Silena said she’d report him to Brunner and i think he’d have our back….probably won’t get kicked off the show though. only understudy.

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: maybe Brunner could keep an eye on him on campus? idk 

Annabeth feels gears turning in her head. She sits up on the couch, tapping rapidly at her phone. It looks like her brothers are asleep,  _ Mamma Mia  _ forgotten. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: okay hear me out: what if we made him think he’s always being watched?? Beckendorf’s pretty good at making stuff, we could ask him to make fake cameras? to trick Luke into thinking someone’s watching? 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: i mean, that’s smart (clearly you take psych) but it’s also….so extra….we could just put signs up that say ‘cameras in use’ or some shit. or even get Brunner to do it for the ~authenticity~ 

Her face feels hot. Why does she have to make everything overly complicated? 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: scratch that it’s super extra too. new plan: get Brunner to threaten Luke with a show ban and put in a word with the office. then a) Luke will shut the fuck up and b) the office will actually check cameras 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: yeah that’s a lot easier...I’ll email him tomorrow morning and text Silena to do the report 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: so are we good? 

Inwardly, Annabeth curses herself for changing the subject so suddenly. But what’s sent is sent. 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: if you promise to try not to provoke him, yes 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: then please try to not get into fights? 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: i mean i can handle myself it’s not like i haven’t gotten into fights before 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: yeah but if you get expelled….

She takes a deep breath.  _ You only know you love something when you lose it _ . Well, she’s close to losing Percy Jackson, and the thought makes her throat dry. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: I’m not gonna lie, it feels like I’ve known you forever when it’s been what, 2 months? 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: and it took 16 years to get you into my life...if you get away so easily, who knows how long it could take to find you again? 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: some things are short lived but i don’t want this to be 

Reading the messages after she sends them, Annabeth realizes exactly how intense they are. It dawns on her that she sounds like she loves him. In a non-friend way. 

Maybe she does. 

Annabeth pushes that thought away and locks her phone, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to handle watching him type. She resigns herself to the fact that sometimes, there are days without the sun and nights without its light illuminating the moon. 

The phone lights up, and she scrambles to answer it. 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: me neither, beth

He gives her a name so easily, like he’s been meaning to his entire life. 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: and technically we knew each other before we met. Grover, remember? 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: if it helps 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: I’ll try 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: that’s all i ask 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: if you try too 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: okay. 

>Percy Jackson to Annabeth Chase: so about everything...we have a plan? 

He’s talking about Luke, but he isn’t at the same time. 

>Annabeth Chase to Percy Jackson: we do. 

(It works.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahhahah i Do Not Like luke castellan :) and i wasn't lying when i said this was a slow burn!!! denial, babey. this week's title is from all too well by taylor swift. happy holidays!!


	6. i confess i'm a mess more often than not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth has one thought during tech week, and it is 'fuck'.

The next week whizzes by. Part of it is because it’s a short week—they don’t have school on Friday. Student holiday. It’s the week before tech week, which means that Annabeth starts attending rehearsals to get the costume changes down. 

She spends some days hunched over her script, scrawling down actor and character names in the margins. She spends some nights finishing up alterations. 

The entire time, she avoids Luke, and she notices that he’s much more tame than he was last week. At one point, she catches Silena’s eye.  _ I guess it worked _ , her eyes seem to say. It’s strange, knowing that she wants to cut off Luke for good. The girl gives her a warm smile and floats off to her place on stage as Annabeth maneuvers around set design bringing in their finished pieces. She finishes a list of all the costume changes in order that Tuesday, and begins implementing them into runs as soon as possible. 

The one good thing about it being so close to tech week is that Annabeth finally gets to see Thalia again. 

She hasn’t talked to Thalia since the beginning of the year—since they’re in different grades, it’s hard to be in the same classes. They don’t even get to walk home together anymore because they leave school at drastically different times. 

So when Annabeth sees Thalia going into the sound booth on Thursday, she immediately drops her binder and goes up there with her. 

The sound booth is...interesting. It’s next to the light board, and it’s full of buttons and switches and knobs Annabeth doesn’t understand. They’re not doing a music-heavy show, since it’s not a musical, but there are some sound effects and cues that need to be managed. Enter Thalia: clad in a leather jacket over her clothes and combat boots on her feet, two single strands of hair dyed blue. Annabeth waits in the doorway until Mr. Brunner finishes giving her a tour. He spots Annabeth and raises an eyebrow, like  _ shouldn’t you be backstage?  _ She just shrugs—it’s not like the actors had started rehearsal anyway. They’re playing some sort of game in the auditorium, and the smell of burnt popcorn lingers in the air. 

When Mr. Brunner finally leaves, she runs up to Thalia from behind and practically pounces on her. “Guess who?” 

The sound of her laugh is melodic. “Hey, kiddo.” 

“You are literally a year older than me.” 

“Still,” Thalia says, setting Annabeth down. “Long time no see.” 

Annabeth keeps hugging her arm, like they’re kids again running away from their struggles. “It feels like forever,” she mumbles. Between last May (when she’d seen Thalia last) and now, a lot had happened. 

“I know, kiddo,” Thalia whispers, almost to the air. Annabeth knows that one day it  _ will _ be forever, that any day could be the last time they see each other ever again. 

Thalia had always felt like home. But as years passed, the feeling slipped away from her so much that now, she barely recognizes it. 

“I spoke to Luke,” Annabeth says, squeezing her eyes shut. Just as it is for her, their shared history is a touchy subject for Thalia. “It didn’t go well.” 

Thalia tenses a little under Annabeth’s grip, but it’s brief. “Of course it didn’t,” she says, her tone lacking emotion. “What did you expect?” 

“I don’t know,” Annabeth admits. “He actually said sorry.” 

Thalia scoffs and moves away to face her. “After four years? He doesn’t deserve our forgiveness.” 

“I know, but I can’t help but think that maybe if he’d said it earlier…..” Annabeth rubs her arms. The sound booth is stuffy, but her veins are ice cold. “It kind of escalated. Or it would have, if Silena wasn’t there.” 

Her eyes pierce through Annabeth’s soul, as if she’s trying to extract her memories and see them for herself. “Are you okay?” 

Annabeth lets out a stream of air. “Yeah. A lot more than Percy is. I caught him and Luke fighting. Like, actually fighting.” 

“Percy’s that kid in building with the hair, right?” 

“That’s the one. He was trying to stop Luke from being a complete asshole. And Luke is….he’s different, Thalia. It’s not just about cutting us off anymore. I thought that he would’ve at least understood why I said no but he just….I don’t know. I can’t recognize him.” 

“Then stop trying to. He’s never gonna be the same, baby. It’s just you and me.” Thalia sits down at the switchboard. “And maybe that Percy kid too.” 

“He’s a good guy.” Annabeth’s still trying to decide how she loves him. Her mind almost wanders to Percy, but she snaps herself out of it before Thalia can detect anything. 

Thalia nods, penciling in the cues Brunner had given her into her copy of the script. “It seems like it,” she mutters, sticking her tongue out slightly as she copies down the notes. “Sounds like rehearsal’s starting soon. You should go back down.” 

Sure enough, when Annabeth looks through the glass walls at the stage, Clarisse is standing on a table in front of everyone and gesticulating wildly. 

Annabeth doesn’t want to go back to the wings, where she’s alone and stressed. But the show must go on. She bids Thalia goodbye for now, then descends the steps to the auditorium.

* * *

Annabeth has one thought during tech week, and it is  _ fuck.  _

They start rehearsal with runs, and they end it with runs. Somewhere in between, there’s changes. Everyone is hit with the realization that their show opens in a week and a half.  _ A week and a half.  _

Despite Thalia attending rehearsals every day, they never have time to talk until after school. Annabeth gets ten minutes to eat (in which she shares fries with Travis, Connor, and Percy) and then is rushed into the wings. Her job for the first two days is to teach the actors about their quick changes. However, an hour into Monday’s rehearsal, some major problems hit her. 

  1. There are a _lot_ of actors. 
  2. The actors enter and exit from both sides of the stage. 
  3. Sometimes there are actors in opposite wings changing at the same time. 
  4. She’s the only person on costumes. 
  5. There is _no way_ she can accommodate for all of the changes by herself. 
  6. Actors can be really, really annoying. 



She’s overworked, overwhelmed, and in desperate need of a crew. 

Annabeth took the problem to Clarisse, but  _ she  _ was overwhelmed with making sure everyone knew their cues. 

“I don’t have time for this,” Clarisse had said. “Go to Beckendorf. He’ll know what to do.” 

So she does. 

>Annabeth Chase to Charles Beckendorf: bro 

>Annabeth Chase to Charles Beckendorf: is there anyone you could spare for costumes i need at least one other person in the wings 

She taps her foot impatiently against her desk leg and finishes a math worksheet in the thirty minutes it takes for him to respond. 

>Charles Beckendorf to Annabeth Chase: Not gonna lie, I’ve been swamped lately too. I’m trying to come up with running and makeup crew right now. 

>Charles Beckendorf to Annabeth Chase: But you’re right, you need people on costumes. I can’t believe Brunner only got you for the job. 

>Charles Beckendorf to Annabeth Chase: I’ll get back to you tomorrow, how does that sound? 

>Annabeth Chase to Charles Beckendorf: as long as i get some help, it sounds perfect 

Footsteps pad in the hallway outside her room. Annabeth sets down her phone. Sure enough, Bobby’s face appears between her door and the doorframe moments later. 

“Movie?” 

“Can’t. Essay due in two hours. What movie though?” 

“Mamma Mia Part 2,” he says matter of factly. “We made popcorn.” 

The mention of popcorn brings her back to the stuffy auditorium moments before rehearsal. “Ugh, I don’t think I can ever eat popcorn again. Katie always burns hers in the microwave and the smell will forever haunt me. Also  _ Mamma Mia  _ again? Dude.” 

Bobby shrugs. “It’s just a fun movie. You should have fun sometimes.” 

Annabeth scrunches her nose. “You should have fun sometimes,” she mimics (in what she thinks is a really good impression of Bobby’s voice). 

He just shakes his head and disappears. Annabeth checks her phone. No new notifications. 

The next morning, the sky is dull. She knows the sunlight is there, but it’s hidden behind a curtain of clouds. She has too many jobs to do. They take precedence to the sun..

Annabeth is waiting for Beckendorf after they finish Tuesday’s rehearsal to discuss getting someone to help her. He’s engaged in a conversation with Mr. Brunner, and Annabeth doesn’t want to interrupt, but the clock is ticking. She sees Percy in the corner of her eye, and while her heart leaps, her mind is focused on fixing her problems. 

Percy grows bigger in her peripheral vision until he’s standing next to her. He taps Annabeth’s shoulder. 

“Not now, Perce.” Annabeth cranes her head to look at Brunner and Beckendorf, still deep in conversation.  _ What could they possibly be going on about?  _

“It’s really quick.” 

She shakes her head. Beckendorf could be free any minute. 

Percy pokes her shoulder again. 

“Okay fine. What?” 

Percy begins to say something, but Annabeth’s eyes stray to Beckendorf. He’s gesturing wildly, clearly in a mood, while Mr. Brunner tries to calm him down. 

“Annabeth, can you pay an ounce of attention for once?” 

Tech week has barely begun and it’s taking a toll on her. She’s tired, cranky, and easily provoked. Without thinking, Annabeth throws her binder onto a table. “Can you fuck off for a second?” she snaps. 

A twinge of hurt flashes behind his eye. 

“Fine,” Percy mumbles before turning around and storming off. 

A wave of guilt crashes over her.  _ So this is what it feels like to be instantly sorry _ , she thinks. 

The sunlight feels like it’s gone. It feels like there are too many clouds, grey and thick, and they’re telling her she’s in for a storm. 

Annabeth’s frozen in place for two seconds. When her brain starts functioning again, she looks to Beckendorf. No indication that he’ll be done with his conversation soon. Annabeth squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t know how she managed to do this—how she managed to get the one person whom she may have actually loved to hate her. Annabeth looks to Beckendorf again. She resigns herself to fixing her problem over text, then takes off in the other direction. 

Percy’s walking with his head down and his hands in his pockets when she catches up with him. 

“Hey,” Annabeth says, grabbing on to his arm. He stops and looks at her. He gives her a chance. “I...I’m sorry.” 

“You know, for a person who doesn’t want this friendship to be short-term you’re not really hesitant about telling me to fuck off.” 

“I-I know. I wasn’t thinking. It’s stupid—I overthink or I turn off all my brain cells.” Annabeth lets go of his arm as a techie passes by them and gives them a weird look. 

“You contain multitudes,” Percy mutters. Annabeth smiles despite herself, though it fades quickly. 

“It’s just…..I’ve been so busy and stressed and—”

“Wow, Annabeth! It’s almost like we’re all busy! It’s almost like it’s tech week!” Percy gives her limp jazz hands. It’s the first time she’s heard his sarcasm against her, and it’s sharp.

“I—”

“No but I get it, obviously I’m not as important as—”

“Percy!” Annabeth stamps her foot. “Stop it! There’s no show without you, okay?” 

Whatever he was going to say dies in his throat. Percy blinks in surprise. “I mean, I was being sarcastic but that’s a stretch.” 

“No, it isn’t,” Annabeth insists. “You’ve helped every area backstage. The set looks amazing. The props look amazing. The high school characters would just be decked out in leather pants if it wasn’t for you. We’d be presenting Nerd Grease, not She Kills Monsters.” 

Percy shrugs. “It’s part of my job.” 

“Literally, it's not. You’re in building. Every techie is important, but at this point, you’re crucial, man! I just...I don’t have a team. I’m doing all the work; no one else knows how to sew. It’s just me, and I’m going crazy because  _ actors  _ are so entitled and...”

She trails off, taking note of how his eyebrows furrow. “It’s never just you,” he mumbles. 

All of a sudden, the lights snap off and the whirring of the air conditioner stops. The hallways fall into a pitch black. 

Annabeth hears an “Oh, come on!” from the other end of the hallway. It’s Beckendorf’s voice, terse from the stress of the show. General commotion echoes off the walls. What Beckendorf says next, presumably to Clarisse, is quieter But his voice is deep and it reaches her ears through the sea of noise: “This is the perfect thing to happen during hell week. Absolutely stupendous! I am  _ this close  _ to quitting.” 

Annabeth can imagine him throwing his hands in the air. 

“Calm down!” Clarisse commands. “I know that random blackouts are the last thing we need, but rehearsal is over! Go home. We can’t really do anything about it anyway.” 

A mass of footsteps sound, getting closer to where they’re standing. The actors and techies scramble to get outside, and Annabeth gets pushed around in the mess. She finds a wall and sticks to it as the trampling continues. When the last pair of footsteps goes away from them, she lets out a breath. “Percy?” 

“Yeah,” she hears. His voice comes from the opposite wall. 

“Do you want to talk outside?” 

“Yeah.” 

Annabeth stumbles around in the dark until she runs into a body. Percy. She slips a hand into his on instinct, and he takes it, despite their last conversation being an argument. They walk, hand in hand and in silence, to the exit. 

The blackout affected the streetlamps too. The only things that make Percy’s face visible are the red brake lights of the cars and a sliver of the moon up above. 

He stops suddenly, and Annabeth runs into him. “Bench,” he points out, voice quiet. Annabeth can vaguely see the outline of it—she finds an armrest and uses it to sit down. 

“What did you—” Her voice comes out thick, almost unintelligible. Annabeth clears her throat. “What did you mean when you said it’s never just me?” 

Annabeth doesn’t look at his face. It’s easier that way. 

“Oh. It’s just...you know. I’m here. I’m here a lot.” 

She gets what he’s trying to say. “I know. But physically? Percy, I had to wrangle 20 actors by myself. It’s stressful! I don’t know how Clarisse does it. But yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to Beckendorf about.” 

“Then I’ll be there,” he says without skipping a beat. 

“You really don’t have to.” 

“But I can. I’m pretty sure Beckendorf’s pissed because he needs to decide who’s on running crew and Brunner asked him to do something else too. And he’d also need to decide who to drop so you get costumes done well. If I volunteer it’ll be easier for him.” 

“Would you really want to do costumes over running crew? It’s a ton more work because we have less people.” 

Percy exhales. “Yeah. Beckendorf has a ton of people to choose from.” 

“I know he’d want you to do running.” 

“And I know you want me to do costumes.” 

It’s true, and apparently it’s obvious. Annabeth’s thinking is that if they work together, Percy won’t be pushed behind thoughts about her job. He’ll be a part of them. 

“Are you sure?” 

He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Annabeth cracks a smile at his willingness to help. “See what I mean? You’re crucial to this show.” 

Percy knocks his shoulder against hers. “Are you sure?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she mimics. 

Percy smiles at that. She can barely see it, but it’s there.

“Seriously though,” Annabeth continues, “I’m sorry. You have my full permission to snap back at me if I’m ever being annoying. I will tape my mouth shut with gaff tape.” She raises her hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“Were you ever actually a Scout?” 

Annabeth gives him a grin, even if it’s not visible in the dim moonlight. “No.” 

“I’m still gonna hold you to that.” 

”Duly noted.” 

They tiptoe around each other the next day, focusing solely on work. The work itself, well, it’s hell. Mr. Brunner, Clarisse, and Beckendorf all share one emotion the rest of the week and it is “I’m Going To Scream”. 

Still, tech week is a lot more enjoyable after the clouds part a bit and Percy joins her team. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year!! i'm sorry this is a week late lmao, i haven't really been that confident in my writing lately and was a bit hesitant ot post this chapter. things have been kinda hectic!! much like tech week wouldn't you say....now i am absolute shit at writing conflict so this wasn't the best but i promise that the next chapter will make it worth it <3


	7. you have given me your drive (you make me feel alive)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> opening night of a show is, quite honestly, one of best experiences.

On October 31st, Annabeth is dividing up candy with Bobby and Matthew when her phone buzzes. She claims a few more chocolate minibars before going upstairs to read it. 

>Mr. Brunner to She Kills Monsters Cast and Crew: Techies, don’t forget to wear or pack all black clothes for tomorrow! 

Ah, yes. Tomorrow. 

Annabeth takes out a pair of black ripped jeans and a long sleeved shirt to match. She tucks them on the edge of her dresser. 

* * *

Before Annabeth knows it, opening night is knocking on her door.

On November 1st, Annabeth wakes up to a dusty blue sky, tinged pink and orange by the almost-risen sun. Mr. Brunner had told them to get to school early today—he was going to distribute show shirts before the day started. 

The morning has a different energy. By the time she gets ready, the sun has fully risen and its light casts shadows on her floor. Annabeth descends the stairs to the living room with an aura that she can’t name. It’s excitement, but it’s nervousness too. 

On the car ride to school, Bobby and Matthew offer her a ziplock of individually wrapped Starbursts that they’d acquired over Halloween. She gingerly takes a yellow one. Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” blasts through the speakers as Bobby and Matthew get dropped off at the middle school, and it’s still playing when they reach Annabeth's school five minutes later. 

She’s almost out of the car when: 

“Annabeth.” 

She turns to see her stepmom chewing her lip. “Yeah?” 

“What time is the play?” 

Annabeth’s surprised. She didn’t think her stepmom cared. “Uh, 8:15 but it’ll probably start late.” 

The woman gives her a tight-lipped smile. “Okay well, I’ll tell Frederick, alright?” 

Annabeth stares at her blankly. “Okay.” 

“And um, break a leg.” She looks flustered, and Annabeth almost feels bad for her. 

“Thanks.” 

_ Huh.  _

Annabeth gets her show shirt from Mr. Brunner five minutes later: a long sleeved black shirt that features a light pink sword on the front and the cast and crew names on the back. The cotton is stiff, but Annabeth pulls it on anyway. She can’t seem to focus in class all day: every second of November 1st leads to the opening of  _ She Kills Monsters _ . 

She feels a sense of pride wearing her show shirt—it sets her apart from the other students. Whenever there  _ is _ a theater kid in her class, they’re matching, like they’re in on some wonderful secret. She recites a cheery “Come see our show!” in every class. And she means it. They’d worked too hard for it to flop. The school day is measured in excited leg bounces, in impatient tapping, and in repeated checking of a watch. 

Finally,  _ finally _ , the hands on the clock read 4:15. Annabeth waits at the edge of her seat, her backpack on, ready to leave. When the bell rings, she jumps out of her seat, only to be told to sit down by her teacher. The woman goes on about something that Annabeth really cannot care less about. She chews her lip in impatience. When her teacher lets them go, Annabeth immediately runs to the theater room. 

The backpacks are tossed against the wall, something that had become normal over the weeks of rehearsal. Beckendorf is already there, and he and Tyson arrange the tables to make one long table covering the length of the room. There’s school-supplied mirrors on the surface, as well as a few curling irons. Annabeth throws her backpack with the others and gets to work helping them. 

“Annabeth.” Beckendorf’s voice is gentle, but controlled. He needs to be in strict authority today. “Change into all black at 7:15, okay?” 

“Will do.” 

  
  


They eat dinner at 5:30—meal orders from a deli were included in the show fee. Annabeth chews on a cold turkey sandwich, surrounded by the people she’s worked with. Travis and Connor don’t have fries today, but it seems like they’re hyped up on something else. 

“What if ducks are fake?” 

Annabeth nearly chokes on her sandwich. “They what?” 

She expects Connor to brush it off or change the subject, but instead he repeats it. “What if ducks just aren’t real?” 

“No wait he’s got a point,” Percy says, putting down his food. “I’ve never actually seen a duck do anything.” 

“It’s because they’re fake,” Connor insists. “Think about it. Have you ever seen a duck anywhere that isn’t a man made lake?” 

“That’s because the natural water in the area is too polluted to—”

“I don’t take criticism,” he announces. 

“I have literally thrown bread crumbs at a duck pond before.” 

“But did they  _ eat the crumbs? _ ” When she stares at Percy blankly, he taps his forehead twice, eyes and grin swimming in mirth. 

Connor gestures to Percy. “See! You get it.” 

Annabeth holds out a finger and takes out her phone. 

>Annabeth Chase to Grover Underwood: help Percy and Connor are trying to tell me that ducks don’t exist 

Their last conversation is from August, but it doesn’t bother Annabeth. They’re the type of friends who click no matter how much they text. A second later, his face fills the screen and the phone vibrates. She puts him on speaker. 

“Speaker. Do ducks exist: yes or no?” No introductions necessary. 

“Jackson, I better not hear you saying that ducks are fake when I infodumped about the mallard last week,” Grover demands. 

“Okay, Nature Man,” Connor scoffs. “As if you’re not working for the government either.” 

“We literally have not brought up the government before now,” Annabeth tells Grover. 

“Annabeth. Babe. Don’t you dare believe those  _ fools _ !” 

“You’re just mad because I didn’t take AP Environmental Science with you,” Percy interjects. “You know, it’s such a shame that you got brainwashed by our education system into thinking that ducks—”

“Ducks exist!” Grover says indignantly. Percy simply laughs and shakes his head. 

She takes in the moment, the laughing, the turkey. All of it is  _ different _ . The air sparkles. Harsh fluorescent lights shine in the cafeteria, their buzzing having grown on Annabeth. 

  
  
  


Suddenly it’s 6:30 and all the actors are in their costumes. Annabeth doesn’t know where the time went. She just knows she’s busy—moving the costume rack to the wings, helping the actors with makeup, curling someone’s hair. All she can remember in the past 45 minutes is that she pestered each and every actor until they changed into the costumes she worked so hard on.

  
  


At 6:45, it hits her that there’s nothing left to do. There are techies actually assigned to hair and makeup helping the actors. Not to mention Silena, who was the only person who got dressed on time, is helping out some of the younger kids as well. Annabeth has already gotten the actors into their costumes, she’s already swatched every lipstick color from the makeup box on her arm (out of curiosity), and she’s curled her hair in spare moments. (Well, Silena did that last part for her but it doesn’t matter.) 

So with 30 minutes to spare before she has to change her shirt, Annabeth heads to the wings. The smell of the show shirt is still new, but the cotton feels broken in after wearing it all day. The lights are off in the wings, save for bright neon lamps near both the prop table and the costume rack. The stage lights are changing colors--a warm yellow, then a blue, then a soft pink. She comes to the conclusion that it’s Nico, playing around with the light board. Annabeth doesn’t quite know what she’s doing--she walks in a circle in the right wing, checking the scene list and then the costume rack. Everything seems to be in order. 

She finds a rolling chair and sits on it, staring at the flashing stage lights. The beams are concentrated, and yet she knows the colors are reflected on her face. A few minutes later, Clarisse runs in, cursing under her breath.

“I need you to label the costumes,” she wheezes, body bent and hands clutching her knees. 

“They were labeled two hours ago.”    
  
“Yeah, well, the actors fucked everything up and the labels are now in this bag. Just do it, okay? It’ll make things easier.” 

Her heart picks up speed at the sudden complication, but she nods.

It turns out that it isn’t that big of a problem--Annabeth finds a flashlight and gets the labels to their corresponding costumes in no time. When she’s finishing up, Beckendorf enters with Michael Yew, who’s on crutches. Percy comes in behind them. 

“Here’s the cues for curtains,” she hears Beckendorf say. Percy helps Michael into the rolling chair she was sitting in earlier and wheels him to the other wing, where the curtain controls are located. “Pull down on the right rope to close and on the left one to open. It shouldn’t be that hard.”    
  


Michael looks like he has no problem with it. At least, she thinks he does. Annabeth can’t see too much from the other end of the stage. He disappears into the wings, but Percy sees her.    
  


She gives him a small wave. Percy crosses the stage over to her. 

“You ready?” Annabeth asks when he stops. 

Percy nods, his eyes flicking over her hair. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He sings the phrase a bit, the tune resembling a kids’ cartoon intro she can’t quite remember. “There’s nothing else we can do to prepare.” 

She chews on her lip. “I dunno, what if we didn’t prepare enough? And it’s a disaster?” 

“Hey, it won’t be a disaster. And if it is then…it is what it is.” 

“Thanks,” Annabeth mutters. She peers at a piece of paper taped to the wall. “That’s the quick change schedule, by the way.” 

“I know.” 

“You have it in your wing?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, but do you have the costumes you need in your wing?” It’s too late. Her mind is running in every direction, looking for something that could go wrong. 

“Yeah.” 

“And the—”

Percy laughs and puts his hands on her shoulders. She’s almost offended until she sees his face, barely visible as he’s turned away from the lamp. “Beth. Relax.” 

“How am I supposed to relax when Clarisse came in with a problem which means that I didn’t get rid of all the problems so there could be another problem and—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” His thumb rubs a little circle on her shoulder, and it takes almost all of her willpower not to look at it. “We rehearsed it multiple times a day, remember? It’s locked down. You’re going to do amazing. We’ve got this.” 

Annabeth takes a deep breath. Somehow, Percy knows exactly what to say. He doesn’t always, but the  _ sometimes  _ make it worth it. 

The sides of his face reflect the warm yellow light coming from the stage. It mimics the sunlight, almost. 

“You think?” Annabeth knows he’s sure, but she needs to hear him say it. 

He pokes her nose. “Duh.” 

When his finger leaves her skin, her face follows it on instinct. It’s not until their knees brush that Annabeth realizes just how close she’d gotten—Percy’s legs bend around hers, and the frizz of their hair invade the same space. His eyes are inches away, crinkled at the corners. She feels herself leaning forward, her hand finding his shoulder and his sliding to her waist, her eyelids fluttering shut as—

_ What the fuck are you doing?  _

Annabeth falls into his chest instead: half as a way to hug him, half from exhaustion. “Ugh. Love you.” 

And she does. She winces inwardly at how abrupt it is, but what’s done is done. 

Annabeth feels Percy’s body go rigid, but then he envelopes her.  _ He gives good hugs _ , she thinks. That much, at least, is a constant. The smell of new fabric comes from his show shirt, and it mixes with a faint scent of soap. “Same.” Percy’s voice is soft, if not a bit croaky. 

They’re silent for a minute. Just for a minute: a brief moment caught in the backstage lights. 

  
  


What happens next is a whirlwind. Annabeth doesn’t know when she got changed or tied back her hair. She doesn’t know when she got sandwiched between sweaty bodies in the theatre room, or when Clarisse blinked the lights to get their attention. 

“Everyone stop what you’re doing and get into a circle like we did on the first day,” she orders. Her voice is the same as it’s always been, but her eyebrows are scrunched in a way that Annabeth can’t read. 

The group struggles to get into a circle quickly this time. The actors are there too, and they walk carefully to make sure their mic tape doesn’t fall off. Annabeth finds Percy with her eyes and makes sure she’s standing next to him. What can she say? He’s familiar now. 

After two minutes of sliding past everyone involved in the play, Annabeth finds herself wedged between Thalia and Percy. Their circle is….a mess. But it’s enough. 

Mr. Brunner is in the circle this time too, between Clarisse and Beckendorf. Annabeth realizes with a jolt that this is the most she’s seen of him the entire play. 

“Alright everyone. Let’s get started.” There’s a twinkle in his eye. “We are going to begin with vocal warmups. This is to help with enunciation. Every actor has to participate, but techies can too. Repeat after me: what-a-to do to die today a minute or two to two.” 

Annabeth stumbles over the words as the room repeats them. She catches Percy in the corner of her eye making a face, and she assumes it didn’t come naturally to him as well. 

“One more time. What-a-to do to die today a minute or two to two.” 

They all say it back in a chorus. 

“A thing distinctly hard to say but harder still to do.” 

The room repeats that as well. 

It’s fun, Annabeth thinks, to take part in warmups. Even though she feels like a fraud—she’s a techie, not an actor—there’s something special about being in this circle. The seniors say warmups confidently, this being their seventh or eighth show. Other techies, dressed in black, approach it with caution. Annabeth subconsciously bops her head to the rhythm of the rhymes, her ponytail swinging. 

When they finish, Mr. Brunner looks to his right at Clarisse. “Take it away.” 

“Okay y’all.” Clarisse steps a little forward, her hands together. “How many of you are doing theatre for the first time?” 

Annabeth raises her hand. So does Percy, and Connor, and a handful of other students. 

“We have this thing in theatre. Every day before we perform, the entire cast and crew gets in a circle,” she says, gesturing at both sides, “and we support each other. There’s no name for it. It’s just something that we do—we’re a family, so we support each other. What you do is you grab the hands of the people right next to you— _ yes _ , both of them—and you close your eyes. No talking. Why did you join this show? What have you learned? This is a time to reflect. While you do that, we pass along a squeeze. Like a tangible form of support. Mr. Brunner starts it by squeezing someone’s hand, then whoever gets it squeezes the hand of the person next to them. You have to wait for the squeeze—only pass it on after you get it. It doesn’t stop until everyone around the circle receives it and the squeeze makes its way back to Mr. Brunner. When that happens, he’ll count to three and then all of us will spin out of the circle.” 

Clarisse steps back. “Okay, everyone is silent with their eyes closed starting….” She takes both Mr. Brunner and Silena’s hands. The circle mimics her. “Now.” 

The first thing Annabeth notices is her hands. She thinks they’re clammy, but no one seems to mind. Thalia, to her left, grips her almost urgently, as if her smaller hand could slip out of Annabeth’s easily. Percy, on the other hand, surrounds her hand with his. It’s a lot bigger than hers, and it’s awkward, but it  _ fits.  _

The second thing she notices is her breathing. Her chest rises and falls. It’s not in sync with anything outside of her, really. It’s just Annabeth, inhaling and exhaling, guided by the rhythm of her heartbeat. With her eyes closed, she feels almost like a singular entity. Annabeth could be lost in space if it wasn’t for the two hands grounding her to reality. 

In the 75 seconds that pass, Annabeth  _ thinks  _ she feels the squeeze several times, but nothing is certain enough for her to pass it along.  _ Is it coming from the left or right?  _ She doesn’t remember. Annabeth’s heart jumps at every ghost of pressure. 

_ Why did you join this show? _

Annabeth thinks about the day she signed up for an interview. It was very last minute—applications were due the next day and she’d printed out the forms the night before. When Mr. Brunner interviewed her, he asked her why she wanted to do costumes. She’d wanted the experience, then. A taste of what it might be like in the designer world. 

_ What have you learned?  _

What  _ did  _ she learn? 

_ People change _ is the first thing that comes to her mind.  _ But you meet new people, too. And they want to know you, for some strange reason that you’ll dig at until you reach it.  _

She doesn’t know why Percy chose her, or why she chose him. Not really. All Annabeth knows is that he’s comfort in a way she’s never known before, but now she can’t imagine her life without it. The sun was always there. Annabeth just started paying attention to its light recently. 

And then she feels it—Thalia’s hand clamps hers. The pressure is nice, actually. For a split second, she forgets what she has to do. But Annabeth recovers, as humans always do, and she passes the squeeze along to Percy. Her hand has to stretch, but it works. She feels his fingers curl into hers; a sharp intake comes from him. It works. 

Annabeth makes a silent promise to herself and to Percy. She’ll be there, Annabeth thinks. Through sunlight and storms. She’ll be there. They might burn, it’s true. Percy and Annabeth are similar in a way that, when left unchecked, could lead to fallout. So yes, they might burn. But if so, they’ll burn bright, like the sun up in the sky. 

Mr. Brunner’s voice interrupts her, quiet and calm. “On the count of three, spin around. 1…2…3.” 

The movement is a mess of limbs. Several people cry out in annoyance—Brunner had never actually specified when to let go of hands. But Annabeth finds her way back into their almost-circle, between friends of the past and the present. 

“Alright, everyone. We have fifteen minutes to places.” Mr. Brunner turns to Clarisse one last time. “Any final words?” 

“You’ve probably heard of this one before.” She speaks with a clipped tone, as if trying to prevent herself from revealing any emotions. Annabeth knows that tone well. “Just have fun tonight, okay?” Clarisse breathes. “You’ve all worked really hard over the past two months. I trust y’all. So go out there and put on a good show, but most importantly, have fun doing it. It’s what you deserve.” 

Her voice cracks at the end, and she rubs her eyes hastily. Silena gives her a quick hug before she continues. 

“It’s the last opening night for some of us, and the first one for others. Remember, this is the only opening night we’re gonna get for this show. All I can really say is….relish in your work. Enjoy tonight, break a leg, and let’s have a good show, yeah?” 

Clarisse sniffles at the end of her speech, her eyes glistening. There’s a soft smile on her face, one lost in nostalgia. The sight brings tears to  _ Annabeth’s _ eyes, though she swipes at them before they can escape. 

She takes a look around the circle. Her eyes span over Thalia, then Luke, then Travis, then Connor, then Beckendorf, then Clarisse, then Silena, then Percy. Others come into her sight, and Annabeth finds that she has some fondness for them too. For anyone who received that black and pink shirt that morning, really. It’s like there’s a pulse of energy inside the room, connecting them all in the name of their show. They’ve grown together. Experienced the same things. Almost like a family. 

_ No _ , Annabeth thinks. Not  _ like _ a family. They  _ are  _ a family. And, well,  _ She Kills Monsters _ is their home. 

Some members of the family are difficult. Annabeth avoids Luke still, but he’s a part of the family nonetheless. She can’t erase everything she knew, but she can keep a distance. And other members, the two black-haired teenagers by her side, seem like they’re in it for a longer run. 

Mr. Brunner calls ten minutes to places, and Clarisse leads them in a route through the school that makes sure the audience doesn’t see them. 

The actors are buzzing in the wings when Annabeth parts the curtain from the wing’s wall with her finger. The audience fills the rows of the auditorium, chattering to themselves. The overture had started. 

“Lot of people,” Percy says behind her. 

She starts, but turns back around when she sees it’s him. “Yeah. These people came to see a bunch of teenagers playing with swords.” 

“We did tell them to.”

“We did.” She leans her head against the wall, staring at the audience awaiting their performance. Annabeth hears a hesitant step, then a chin on her head. 

_ Oh. Okay. This is fine.  _

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the other wing?” Her words chastise him, but her tone knows better. 

He coughs. “Not until mid-scene.” 

“Hmm.” Her senses are so aware of Percy that she can’t bring herself to say a thing. The only thing she knows in the moment is his presence. 

The house lights flash. 

The curtain drops from her finger unceremoniously—Mr. Brunner would be in the apron soon, introducing their show. If she continues to stare at the audience, someone is bound to see her. Annabeth has a job to do; it’s about time she got on it. She whirls around, causing Percy to stumble forward. 

She and Percy simply stand chest to chest, silent. His eyes are wide, and his mouth moves like a fish’s, but no words come out. Still, he breaks silence first. “Break a leg, yeah?” 

“That’s more an actor thing,” she says matter-of-factly, smiling at his eye roll. “But yeah. You too, Perce.”

“Percy! Annabeth! Get your asses to places!” 

Clarisse whisper-yells directions to actors in the wings, ushering them behind the curtain legs like a flight attendant. 

“I know my lines!” a guy says. Annabeth doesn’t know if he’s defending himself or if he’s just excited. She just hopes for the kid’s sake that he’s right. 

Clarisse shushes him and begins speaking to the group. “There is one rule of thumb: if you can see the audience, they can probably see you. So you two,” she snaps her fingers at a couple, “get behind the leg. And mics are most likely on, so whisper whatever you have to say. Pretty sure the audience already heard one of y’all sneeze.” 

“Wouldn’t be a show without a mic mishap,” Percy mutters, and Annabeth has to pinch her lips. She imagines Clarisse would be able to yell at her for laughing for a full ten minutes. 

They hear Mr. Brunner speaking into a microphone. “Okay,” Clarisse says, lowering her voice even further. “We have rehearsed this several times. You’ll be okay. Remember to project. Narrator, you’re up first. Break a leg, y’all.” 

Annabeth hears the audience clap and the intro begin to play. From the opposite wing, Michael Yew pulls on the curtain ropes to reveal the narrator standing on set, hooded in the cloak Annabeth had made. Mystical. Intriguing. 

“In a time before…” 

In the wings, Annabeth exhales. “It’s go-time,” she says under her breath. 

Percy just grins. “I can’t believe you missed the opportunity to say that it’s showtime,” he tsks. “Gotta say, I’m disappointed Beth-” 

Annabeth lightly hits his chest. “Gross. That is the grossest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Your face says otherwise,” Percy sings smugly. And, feeling the smile in her cheeks, Annabeth has to agree with him. 

She doesn’t know what it is that compels her. Maybe it’s the fantasy-fitting music from the booth, or the fact that there’s time before the changes, or the glittery atmosphere that their show brings. Whatever. All that matters is that, in a rare moment, her overanalyzing stops functioning. Annabeth goes on her tiptoes, arms still crossed, and kisses Percy’s cheek. 

Before she can embarrass herself, Annabeth all but jumps away. “Now get to your wing, doofus.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, and he thanks her. Percy walks quickly to the backdrop  _ (“Running in the wings is strictly prohibited!”)  _ and starts shimmying behind it to the other side. 

Annabeth turns her attention to the scene. 

She completes her tasks during the play almost mechanically, relying solely on her watch and cues. There’s a lot of hushed yelling, snapping fingers, and reapplying mic tape. 

It’s different, watching a play from the side. You don’t get to enjoy it as the audience would. On the other hand, you enjoy it more, knowing that it’s a mechanism and you are a gear. 

The actors are focused tonight too. They run on coffee and nerves, rushing in their quick changes. It would have been annoying if Annabeth wasn’t a bundle of nerves too. 

And then the overture is playing again and the actors are stepping out a few at a time for curtain call. Tech isn’t allowed on stage, so she waits in the wings with Clarisse and a handful of running crew as the actors join hands. 

“Haven’t you ever wanted to run out there during curtain call?” Annabeth thinks out loud, staring at the backs of the actors with her arms crossed. 

Clarisse stays silent for a second. “Well, yeah. But like Beckendorf said, it’s a thankless job. We get a point to the booth and that’s it.” 

“You never want more?”

“Blondie, we wouldn’t be  _ behind _ the scenes if we got paraded in front of everyone. That’s just not how it is.” 

As the actors come flooding back into the wings, Annabeth and the other techies congratulate them all, giving hugs and high fives. She gets swept up in the sea of bodies and led to the seats of the auditorium. It’s dark in there, the dim lights not nearly enough to see everyone’s face. 

Chatter rushes past her ears. She takes it in, while not really taking it in at all. An hour later, she won’t remember who’s in the audience, or what they’re saying. She briefly catches someone talking about a celebration and makes a mental note to ask about it later. 

There’s laughter and smiles around her. And while she’s a part of it, she’s a part of  _ it  _ only. Her fellow cast and crew members stand by their parents, or teachers, or old friends who have since graduated. Alone but not alone. Almost like a moon in the vacuum of space, reflecting the light of the sun. But a finger taps her shoulder, grounding her to the swarm.

“Grover!” 

Annabeth nearly leaps onto him, not bothered by the wry chuckle that comes from his throat. It’s been too long, she thinks, since she’s had the time to see him. Grover sets her down, smiling like he’s proud of her. “Ma’am? That was such a good show!” 

She laughs it off. “Everyone contributed, you know,” Annabeth tells him as they walk to a less crowded section of the auditorium. 

“Including you,” Grover points out.  _ Always one to make sure his friends know their worth.  _

“Yeah,” Annabeth lets herself admit, feeling a smile on her face. 

Whatever Grover plans to say next is interrupted by a body slamming into him from behind. Percy. The momentum carries them both into Annabeth, toppling her to the ground. 

“I know you guys are in love or whatever,” Annabeth manages to groan from the bottom of the pile, “but my ribcage is getting crushed.”

They scramble off her apologetically. Percy gives her a sheepish smile, a hand on the back of his neck. 

“So,” he starts. “I heard the crew was planning to go to Denny’s.” He says it like an offering, like he’s dipping his toes into the water. “Clarisse, uh, she told me to tell you.” 

Annabeth cocks her head. “She wants me there?”    
  
Percy simply nods. 

“Annabeth,” Grover warns with a sharp intake, bringing her attention to his face. Annabeth follows his eyeline to see a group of people, looking around the auditorium and talking amongst themselves. A mom, a dad, and two boys. Her family. The one she lives with, anyway. 

She gulps. Annabeth had forgotten her conversation with her stepmother that morning. 

“I, um,” Annabeth squeaks. She clears her throat, though it doesn’t do much good. “Do you, um...do you guys mind if….” 

“Yeah, go,” Grover encourages, clapping her back. Percy gives her a look with his nod, and it transports her to an evening after watching rehearsals, in a hallway seemingly lit by the golden light of the sun. 

Annabeth shifts her gaze back to her parents, who haven’t spotted her yet. She rolls her shoulders before crossing the auditorium.

“Hey,” she says, drawing out the end. “So you guys came.”

“Yes, well, it was nice,” her dad says excitedly. “It reminded me of when I played D&D with my college buddies Bill and Paul.” 

“Good job,” remarks her stepmother, not unkindly, but in a way that makes it seem like she doesn’t mean it. 

“Right. Thanks.” There’s a weird tension in the air that she can’t cut. Maybe it’s from the fact that she wants their permission for something, or maybe it’s just them. All she knows is that it’s making her skin crawl.  _ There is no reason to be anxious _ , she reminds herself.  _ In and out. In and out.  _

At some point, her brothers had slipped away, and Annabeth doesn’t think they can save her. She listens to her family chatter for a few more minutes before: 

“Actually, do you mind if I go to a sort of cast celebration thing?” 

Her father exchanges a look with her stepmom. “Well, it’s kind of late…” 

“Let her go, Frederick,” her stepmom commands. It takes Annabeth aback. 

He looks like he wants to protest, but Mrs. Chase gives him a look. “I’m glad you’re making friends, dear,” she tells Annabeth cautiously. 

She looks back at Percy and Grover, the former with arms crossed and the latter looking incredibly amused. “Yeah. Me too.” 

The Denny’s Clarisse chose was empty when they walked in. Annabeth almost feels pity for the poor workers, who’d been enjoying a chill shift before their horde of high schoolers arrived. 

They line the tables together to create one big table. A mega-table if you will. Annabeth orders a vanilla milkshake and a box of chicken nuggets, not trusting her stomach enough to get a burger. Percy orders pancakes. 

“Pancakes for dinner?” 

He flicks her forehead. “Time is a construct, darling,” Percy drawls. “I can pancake if I want to.” 

When she looks at him, the table’s conversation fades to background noise. Not even Luke’s fishing for compliments can bring her out of her trance. 

Annabeth is pulled into his presence, pulled in by the softness of his smile and the warmth of his body. Like the sun pulling in the moon with its gravity, promising it light when it has none for itself. She keeps looking at him. Because she can. 

And he keeps looking at her. 

Their orders arrive fairly quickly. Her milkshake is sweet, in a pleasant way that doesn’t hurt her teeth. 

“How’re the pancakes, my man?” Beckendorf asks Percy, clapping his back so hard a piece almost falls from his mouth. 

“They’re good,” Percy manages. “Not as good as my mom’s.” 

Of that, Annabeth is sure. 

The table is alive with laughter. Everything is  _ loud _ , but not in a way that hurts. The air has an energy, a thrum of success. They’re riding the high of a job well done. 

  
  


It is 10:47 P.M. when Percy asks her if she’s willing to stay back a little later. A quick text to her dad and they’re off. To where, exactly? She’s not certain. 

They drive with a “forgotten hits” radio station playing. She recognizes the songs that play from her childhood, though she doesn’t know their names. One of them is  _ definitely _ Maroon 5, though--they have a distinctive sound that’s shouldered through the 2000s. Percy hums under his breath. It’s not perfect, but his voice carries the tune. Trees blur by the windows, illuminated only by the streetlamps and the light of the moon. 

He pulls into a corner store’s parking lot. It seems desolate: a neon sign flickers periodically, posters cover the windows, and a few other cars line the lot. 

“You’re not gonna kill me, right?” Annabeth jokes nervously. 

Percy gives her a weird look. “Why would I do that?”    
  


They make eye contact for a second, then burst out laughing. She doesn’t know why or how. It just feels  _ natural _ . And she trusts Percy. Desolate corner store and all. 

A bell on the door jingles when they enter. On the inside, it’s actually quite pleasant: white lights illuminate the aisles, and a fan whirs in the corner.

“Give me two minutes,” he tells her, patting her shoulder. 

He walks over to the counter. Annabeth takes the time to read the products on display. She picks up a pack of noodles, wrapped in colorful packaging. She puts it away quickly when he comes back, a plastic bag in his hand. 

Confused, Annabeth follows him back out of the store and into the car. “Are you going to tell me what’s happening or….?” 

“One second.” He gets settled in his seat, then takes out two individually wrapped packages from the bag. Each one is wrapped in clear plastic, with no labels on it except for a sticker with the store’s logo. “Their brownies are amazing,” Percy swears. “Just try it.” 

Annabeth makes a show of unwrapping the brownie and taking a bite of it. The chocolate melts on her tongue, the sweetness reminiscent of the milkshake she had earlier. She puts a fist over her mouth, taking a second to swallow. 

“It is amazing,” she admits. 

“You sure?” He takes a bite of his own. “Yeah, you’re sure.” 

Annabeth suppresses a laugh when she looks at his face. “There’s chocolate all over your mouth,” she remarks, barely keeping it in. 

He wipes a hand across his face, smearing it even more, then looks at her.  _ Is it okay? _

This time, Annabeth can’t contain her giggle. “No, it’s--hold on, do you have any napkins?” 

Percy holds out the plastic bag. She takes a napkin and dabs at his face, taking care to wipe away the bit of chocolate left. 

“There,” she says, leaning back. 

She gets home fifteen minutes later and floats to bed. The blankets hug her with a strange warmth reminiscent of a day in the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi :) i think i popped off with this chapter actually. i know my chapters are usually like, 2-4k so i dunno what the FUCK happened here but!!! it's my favorite!!!! this has the scene i wrote this entire au for as well as my favorite scene :) it also took me two months to finish because i just wanted to make it the best it could be, yk? this week's chapter title is from the sower from starry.


	8. when we were young and full of life and full of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the show ends.

Show week continues. It’s the same routine every day: market  _ She Kills Monsters  _ in class  _ (“Come see our show!”) _ , have dinner, get ready, perform, sleep. Throughout the week, the show goes steadily, with only a few mishaps--a haywire fog machine sent everyone in a panic on Wednesday. 

She and Percy go to the corner store every day, slowly eating their way through the counter’s display section. It’s a brownie on opening night, then a churro, then an eclair. They’re cheap, too, and Annabeth has no problem supporting a small store. She pays Percy back for her share every night. After opening night, she’s prepared. 

  
What Annabeth is  _ not  _ prepared for is closing night. 

The day goes as the others did: long and short at the same time. But she’s not nervous, like she was on opening night. She knows what to do. The pale yellow walls of the theatre room are as familiar to Annabeth as her own.

It doesn’t hit her that it’s their last show until they’re in their circle, holding hands, and Clarisse begins to cry. Like, actual tears. Her face is screwed up to make it seem like she’s fine, but Silena touches her shoulder once and she collapses into a hug. Some little shit starts clapping, and while Annabeth supposes it’s to tease her, it’s heartwarming, actually, to see that Clarisse cares so much about what she does. 

She exhales to compose herself, then readies herself for tonight’s pep talk. “Alright everyone,” Clarisse says, with a little laugh at herself. “As you may know, this is the last day of our show--” 

Clarisse cuts herself off with a sharp inhale as her eyes begin to water again. “This is the last day of our show,” she repeats. “Which means you’re never gonna get this show back. So let’s take a minute to appreciate it, okay? What did you like the most about the process? I liked,” Clarisse says, clearing her throat, “I liked how all you little brats got it together during tech week and got serious about your lines and everything.”    
  
Little chuckles can be heard from around the room, Annabeth included. 

Silena goes after her, then Connor. Annabeth tries to think of something before it gets to her.  _ I like that it gave me a home _ , she wants to say. But that seems cheesy and desperate, so when it comes to her turn, she chooses not to say it. 

“Uh,” she says instead. “I liked…” 

Annabeth looks left and right, at the old and new faces surrounding her. 

“I like that it taught me friendship,” she says carefully. 

Annabeth can hear a few  _ aww _ s in the crowd, at which she blushes. She gives them a smile like  _ yep, that’s it.  _

Percy goes next. “I like that I made friends too,” he says, his eyes flitting to her. “And that I learned how to use an electric saw.” 

It seems like a satisfactory response, judging by the laughs it elicits. 

  
The circle continues. 

The show continues. 

It goes well. This performance is not the best they’ve had (Luke had to improvise once and some set pieces were moved late, but it was salvageable), though that doesn’t seem to faze Mr. Brunner.

Clarisse and Beckendorf say they’re proud of them that night at Denny’s, and Annabeth feels something flutter in her chest. They then proceed to have a milkshake-drinking contest, led on by the cheering of an eager cast and crew after a successful run. Annabeth finds herself cheering as well, swept up in the clapping and the loudness and the fun. 

Beckendorf finishes his milkshake first, throwing it down and pumping his fists in a victory pose. The cheers erupt, and Beckendorf takes a bow. 

“That is not fair!” Clarisse complains. “You only won because chocolate is thinner than cookies and cream!” 

“Maybe you should’ve chosen a better drink then,” Beckendorf laughs. “Does anyone else think it’s really cold?” 

“Okay, babe,” Percy crows. “Don’t freeze your brain.” 

“Nice  _ Heathers  _ reference!” Annabeth hears someone say. She tilts her head and looks at Percy, who looks just as amused and/or surprised as she feels. 

She finds her face hurting from the smiles. It only gets worse after Percy points out a worker looking like he’d rather crawl into a hole than serve their school one more time. 

“Annabeth Chase, are you  _ relishing  _ in that poor worker’s misery?” he accuses when she bites back a laugh. 

Annabeth punches his arm lightly. “I simply pity the poor fools who decided to take shifts this week.” 

“Oh my god, just imagine  _ that  _ conversation,” Percy cackles. 

“Who’s relishing in misery now?”    
  


“Shut up.” 

People start disappearing after 10:30--there’s a calculus test the next day. Annabeth applauds them for being responsible, really.

“So,” Percy says, putting his jacket on. “Minnie’s?” 

Minnie’s, Annabeth had learnt, was the name of the store they’d been going to for the past week. Minnie was the name of the owner’s grandmother. 

Annabeth nods. “Minnie’s.” 

They sing along to the same radio station in the car. Today, it’s playing “Little Talks”--a song that Annabeth had memorized the lyrics to in fourth grade.

“I never knew the name of this song,” Annabeth remarks during the instrumental section. “It just used to play on the radio so much that I learned all the words.” 

Percy nods as he makes a left turn. “Me too.”    
  


“ _ Don’t listen to a word I say, _ ” Annabeth sings when the chorus picks back up. 

“ _ The screams all sound the same. _ ” They sing it at the same time. The lyrics are girm, the tune reminding Annabeth of something she never had. But she’s not melancholy, or digging into her own brain. All that matters is the moment, not things that happened in the past, or things yet to come. 

They sing the rest of the song together, in their equally terrible voices. Annabeth is warm and flushed when they pull into the Minnie’s parking lot. The posters are familiar to her, the chime of the door a pleasant  _ ding _ . 

“Hey Alfonso,” Annabeth says, leaning on the counter. “What do you recommend for us today?”

The owner, Alfonso, looks pleased to see them. “How about cinnamon rolls?” 

“Too sweet,” Percy calls. 

“Funnel cake?” 

“Funnel cake is good,” Annabeth says, looking back at Percy. He seems to agree. 

Alfonso packages their funnel cake and hands it to Annabeth, who pays for it this time. “See you tomorrow,” he says. 

“Well actually, I don’t know if we’re going to be here tomorrow,” Percy tells him. “Our show closed today.” 

“Show?”    
  


“A play our school put on,” Annabeth supplies. 

“Ah. That explains why you both are wearing so much makeup.” 

She looks back at Percy, just now noticing the eyeliner he’d played with before the show started. “Yeah,” Annabeth laughs. “That’s why.” 

“Well,” Alfonso says, leaning on the other side. “I will be sad to see you go.” 

“We’ll visit,” Percy promises. “Eventually. Exams next week.” 

The funnel cake is still warm when they eat it. It’s not that sweet without the powdered sugar, but Annabeth doesn’t mind. She deals with the trash carefully so as to not attract ants to Percy’s car.    
  
And like every other day, they talk. They talk about the weather and the show and how it’s going to feel weird not having rehearsal every single day after school. 

“Can you believe that starting Monday, I’ll be back home by 5?” 

“Impossible.” 

“Sure as hell felt like it sometimes.” 

“I think Clarisse might be crying right now,” Percy remarks, dusting some of the excess sugar into the plastic bag. 

“Well yeah, she’s a senior. They think about how they’re gonna graduate every day.” 

“Senioritis.” 

“Isn’t that like, wanting to leave though? This is more like...realizing how fast the year is going by.” 

Percy shrugs, leaning back into his seat. “I seem to do that every year.” 

“The show happened so quickly,” Annabeth mumbles. “Clarisse was right about one thing. We’re never getting it back.” 

“If moments happened all the time, they wouldn’t be moments. You gotta let go of it eventually.” 

Annabeth nods slowly. “Cheers to that.” 

The drive back to her house feels like a final goodbye to their show. It’d be a final goodbye to him too, but Annabeth is determined to keep him in her life. He illuminates it after all, with a golden light she can’t seem to find anywhere else. 

***

The next month is full of exams and projects and homework. They find time to talk, though not all of it is at school. They facetime at 11 P.M., after they’re both done with their homework. He brings his sister to the camera, and Annabeth fawns over her in a way that surprises even herself. 

One time, he’s visited by her siblings as well. 

“Hey doucheface, what--who’s that?” 

“Percy,” Annabeth tells him. 

“Hi Percy,” Bobby says, leaning down to look Percy in the eye. “Why don’t you take Annabeth out anymore?”    
  


Annabeth, who had been drinking water, sputters. “It’s not-” 

“We haven’t had time,” Percy says, scratching his neck. His face is flushed red in a way she didn’t think was possible, and she’s sure her face matches his. “Also it’s not like we were  _ going out _ , it was just something we did to celebrate and--” 

“Oh, okay,” Bobby says. “It’s like that, got it. You guys just went out to celebrate, just the two of you, after you’d already celebrated with everyone else. Not going out. You know, one might even ask exactly what you were doing to celebrate--” 

Annabeth finds a pillow and swings it at him to get him to stop talking. “Shut the  _ fuck up,  _ Bobby!” 

“If you don’t make a move on him, someone will!” 

She gets up and removes Bobby physically, flipping him off when he sticks a tongue out at her. 

“Would you believe me if I said that I probably love them more than anyone else?”    
  


“Probably,” Percy says, apparently recovered from Bobby’s intrusion. “Listen, do you--” 

“Have you--” 

They go silent at the same time. 

“Go ahead.” 

“You first.” 

Percy takes a deep breath. “Do you wanna go visit Alfonso tomorrow?” 

Annabeth sits back in her chair, playing with her fingers. “In like, a going out way…?” she says, trying to be casual. 

He laughs, face red. “Yeah, in a going out way.” 

“Okay,” Annabeth says, feigning nonchalance. She plays with a necklace she’s wearing, passing the beads back and forth under her fingers. 

Percy smiles. “Okay.” 

***

They get ice cream this time. 

“Ice cream?” Annabeth asks. “In December?” 

“Any time is ice cream time,” Percy says solemnly, at which Alfonso laughs. 

“Don’t come crying to me when you get sick.” 

Annabeth is shivering when they walk back to the car, the ice cream bowl numbing her fingers. An icy wind rushes past her ears, and she almost drops the bowl when it hits her. She’s wearing a sweatshirt, but it’s a weak defense to the winter front. 

“You okay?”    
  


“It is  _ so  _ cold.” 

“No way.” Percy grins at her, and she’s too cold to figure out why. “It’s like, 40 degrees. This is  _ warm _ for December.” 

“Not all of us were raised in Antarctica.” 

For some reason, her poor attempt at a joke makes him laugh. And he looks at her  _ like that _ , making her heart flutter like some butterfly that wouldn’t be able to survive this night. 

“Here,” Percy says, holding out his arm. Annabeth leans into his embrace, and, as expected, it warms her numbed senses. He wraps it around her waist, and though it’s new, it’s not strange. 

_ How do you make everything better?  _

“Why did you have to park so far away?” she breathes, teeth chattering. 

“Guess it’s busy around the winter season. Christmas cookies and all.” 

Annabeth looks at him strangely. “It’s December 2nd.” 

“Hey, I saw Christmas trees at Walmart in October.” 

“Not even an ounce of respect for Halloween,” Annabeth mutters. She thinks she hears him chuckle again, but they’ve reached the car and warmth takes precedence. Annabeth rushes in as soon as he unlocks the door, cranking up the heater and huddling in her seat. Percy takes a blanket from the backseat and wraps it around her. 

“It’s for Estelle,” he says. “Which is why it’s so soft. She hates using it, so don’t worry about puke or anything.”    
  


“Noted,” Annabeth says. While she’s not exactly warm, she’s  _ warmer _ , and that’s enough. She takes a spoon of the ice cream, hissing when the cold hits her teeth. “I bet you would skate in this weather.” 

Percy laughs, a big hearty laugh with his head thrown back. “You’d be right.”

He kicks his feet up to the dashboard, which might be precarious, but he doesn’t care. Annabeth rolls her eyes at it lightheartedly. 

His aura, his light, his warmth, whatever it is about him that makes him the sun, shines in her face. And once again, she finds herself thinking about how lucky she is to have him. 

They catch up on what’s happened since closing night, and Annabeth actually forgets that it’s a  _ date  _ date. It’s just Percy. It’s just them. 

So when Percy kisses her, it’s not magical or shocking or life-changing. They just  _ fit _ , in a way that’s familiar. Natural. Personal. 

Like they’ve always been meant to. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends, sorry this is a week late lmao. i was a little sad about this ending but now i think i'm finally ready to let go. it has been a great journey, from coming up with characterizations after a tlt musical freakout in September to posting this last chapter today. i do have some extras planned, though! this was originally supposed to be a one shot, and unfortunately a lot of scenes and characters had to be cut out in the writing process to make it comprehensible. thank you so much for reading!! this chapter's title is from little talks by of monsters and men.


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